


a fish hook. an open eye.

by MistressEast



Series: you fit into me like [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: A lot of sex, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered States, Alternate Universe - Canon, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ann is the best i love her so much, Banter, Dirty Talk, Feral Akira, Goro can't handle positive emotions, Kissing, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pregnancy, Rut, Scenting, Tenderness, all of the tropes associated with omegaverse, alpha!Akira, bottom!Goro, deep discussions while naked, kind of lol, lots of sex acts referenced and not described in detail, my original take on omegaverse, not in a violent way just in a protective clingy way, omega!Goro, shadows made them do it, takes place in November and spoils the end of the month, they're in love but it's complicated, top!Akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25716130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressEast/pseuds/MistressEast
Summary: you fit into me like a hook into an eye.“According to his biometric readings—” Futaba sucks in a breath through her teeth, “—Joker is in rut.”The thieves rustle in surprise and Goro feels his jaw go slack.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Series: you fit into me like [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951444
Comments: 79
Kudos: 850





	a fish hook. an open eye.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first omegaverse fic! i've always wanted to give the genre a try and i started this with the intention of writing something short and steamy with a flimsy veneer of "shadows made them do it" justification, but obviously it, uh, got away from me a bit. i'm still very pleased with it though, and it was fun to give my take on some staple abo tropes. this is my version of a world with abo dynamics so i'm sorry if the world-building gets a little complicated.
> 
> please heed the tags. honestly, the number of words in this fic that AREN'T sex should be a crime, but the sex gets pretty nasty, so take care of yourself <3 and enjoy!

Goro knows that Liliths are devious little things that like to lure you in and attack, but he’s too late to warn Akira when the scantily-clad shadow they’re holding up beckons him closer under the guise of pleading for her life.

By the time he even realizes that their fearless leader isn’t beside him, the Lilith has grabbed Akira’s face in her talons, forcing his head back as she presses a biting kiss to his shocked mouth.

“Joker!” Morgana shrieks, readying his slingshot, while the others surge forward with similar cries.

Goro curses under his breath, berating himself for not taking Akira's _hopelessly_ compassionate nature into account—but before any of them can do anything, the Lilith is shoving Akira away.

She titters and waves before vanishing in a swirl of cloying smoke, and Akira staggers, wiping over his mouth with the back of his hand.

The thieves instantly surround him, checking for damage. “Are you alright?” Makoto’s steady voice rises over the concerned babble, and Goro watches from a short distance as Akira nods, face scrunched in displeasure.

“I got too close. My fault.”

“Nah, those shadows are really tricky,” Ryuji assures. “They’re always doing something sneaky.”

“What did she do to you, Joker?” Ann asks, peering curiously at Akira’s mouth as though expecting it to turn green or something.

“I don’t know,” Akira responds, still touching his face distractedly. “It didn’t feel like an attack.”

Futaba hums, squinting at the screen projected in front of her. “I’m not reading any status effects on you right now, but whatever she did discharged some sort of energy. Do you feel anything?”

“No.” Akira shrugs. “I feel the same.”

“Hm. Well, just keep an eye on it.”

“Mona-chan, have you ever seen anything like that before?” Haru wonders as the group starts to declump.

Morgana scratches his cheek. “Lilith is always trying to sow discord, and she’s known for the sin of lust, so maybe she just wanted to kiss Joker to make the group jealous.”

“What?” Ryuji yelps. “Why would that make us jealous?”

“Don’t you think Joker’s cool?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanna plant one on him!”

“Aw, Ryuji, I’m hurt,” Akira deadpans.

“Sh—shut up, dude.”

“We shouldn’t hang around,” Futaba pipes up. “There’s shadows nearby, plus we’re not done working, right?”

“Right.” Akira nods, back to business. “Mona, go ahead.”

In the cat bus, Goro finds himself pressed between Akira and the door in the third row, trying to maintain as much distance as he can. For multiple reasons, he doesn’t want to be too close to Akira right now.

“That wasn’t very impressive of me, was it?” Akira says quietly as the bus rumbles down the shifting corridors of Mementos.

“What, getting caught unaware?” The others are chattering loud enough to cover his response outside of the small bubble of space between him and Akira. “It could have happened to any of us. I apologize for not stopping her.”

“That’s not your job. I should have been paying attention.”

“You can’t be perfect all the time, Joker. We all slip up.”

“Yeah, but I want you to see me looking cool.”

Goro’s heart squirms unpleasantly in his chest and he breathes shallowly to avoid filling his lungs with Akira’s distinctive pheromones. “Vanity has no place down here.”

“I guess you’re right.” Akira’s eyes glint behind his mask, pupils unusually dilated, even given the dim lighting. “As usual.”

Deliberately breaking Akira’s gaze, Goro tunes back into whatever the other thieves are babbling about.

“—good at mythology, right, Queen?” Ann is asking, hanging over the backrest of the front seat.

“As much as we’ve studied in class, yes,” Makoto answers, wrenching the wheel to the side and sending the whole bus lurching down a new path.

The momentum shoves Goro against the warm plane of Akira’s body, Akira’s hands grabbing at him to steady them both, and Goro fights down a threatening blush.

“So what’s up with Lilith?” Ann continues. “I’ve heard her name before, but I can’t remember all those details. She was in the bible, right?”

“She is a Judeo-Christian figure, I believe,” Yusuke supplies from in front of Akira as Goro eases himself out of Akira’s grip.

“Mostly just Jewish, actually,” Makoto says. “And she has roots in Babylonion mythology too, and all sorts of other places.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Haru says. “Adam’s first wife who was cast out of the Garden of Eden.”

“Right,” Makoto affirms, guiding the bus down an incline. “The story goes that God created Adam and Lilith, the first man and woman and the first alphas, at the same time, but Lilith didn’t want to be subservient to Adam and was banished. Then God created Eve, the first omega, specifically so that she wouldn’t act the same way.”

“She was banished just because she didn’t want Adam to boss her around?” Ann exclaims. “Honestly, I’d leave too!”

“Now she’s known as a seductress, tempting alphas away from the so-called natural order.” Yusuke taps his chin, looking pensive. “Interesting.”

“Still doesn’t explain what she did to Joker,” Ryuji points out.

“Maybe Mona was right,” Futaba suggests, twisting in her seat to look back at Akira. “But instead of making someone jealous, she just thought he was hot.”

Akira waves lazily and Goro rolls his eyes.

After their next target is dealt with, Ryuji stretches his arms over his head and groans. “Man, I’m beat! How much more have we gotta do?”

“One more,” Futaba says, scrolling through her screen. “Then Joker said he wanted to visit Jose. Just give me a minute to triangulate our position, then we can get going.”

“Thank goodness,” Ann sighs.

The others look relieved that they’re almost done as well and Goro can’t help but agree. He’s not sleeping well these days, and not just because he’s staring down another murder by the end of the year. He’s got other things to worry about as well, and trudging through Mementos with the Phantom Thieves is more tedious than it should be since he still can’t utilize his full power. Pretending to be less competent than he actually is is a special kind of tiring.

“Ugh.” Ryuji pops his neck. “Let’s hurry and get this over with. I need a shower. Mementos always makes me reek.”

“Too much information, Skull,” Makoto frowns.

“Like you don’t always reek!” Ann punches Ryuji playfully in the shoulder.

“Hey, my pheromones are nice!”

“Not as nice as Noir’s.” Smiling, Ann hooks arms with the group’s other female omega. “She _always_ smells like flowers, no matter how much shadow goop she’s covered in.”

Haru blushes. “Thank you, Panther. I like your scent as well.”

At the praise, Ann’s characteristic berry-sweet scent swells slightly.

“Of course Panther smells the best,” Morgana agrees enthusiastically. “Right, Fox?”

Yusuke pauses in his diligent scan of their surroundings, lowering his hands. “Why ask me?”

“You’re an alpha, right? Can’t you smell really well? Joker can.”

“My olfactory capabilities are enhanced, but I’ve never paid much attention to pheromones. Aesthetics have always interested me more. Besides—” his nostrils flare and he purses his lips. “I can’t really smell any of you right now. I can only smell—” he turns to Akira, standing at the edge of the group, “—Joker, you’re really exuding a lot of pheromones right now.”

“I am?” Akira removes one hand from his pocket to pluck at his jacket collar, sniffing it curiously. “I don’t notice anything.”

“No, you definitely are.” Yusuke glances around. “Does anyone else think so?”

Makoto and Ryuji, both betas, shake their heads, looking puzzled. Futaba, another beta, is too absorbed in her work to participate, and Morgana, whose designation is unknown, shrugs.

“Lemme see—” Ann skips over to Akira and Akira gamely lets her sniff at his neck. As an omega, Ann’s sense of smell is better than a beta’s, but not as advanced as an alpha’s. “Hm.” She leans back, holding onto Akira’s arm. “I think it is a bit stronger than usual.”

Apparently intrigued, Haru drifts closer as well, and Goro stands rooted to the spot, deliberately not contributing. The others think he’s a beta, so he wouldn’t have any reason to voice the surprise swelling through him. The truth is that Akira’s scent has been coating Goro’s throat since the bus ride, his signature blend of dark vanilla and cedar, but Goro has always been particularly sensitive to Akira’s scent, even when it’s disguised behind a layer of coffee, so he didn’t think anything of it. Now, however, if the others are commenting on Akira’s scent, that might mean it really is more obvious than usual.

They really need to finish up so that Goro can go home and take his medicine.

Any further discussion is halted as Futaba declares that she’s figured out where to go and they all pile back into the Monabus. This time, Goro makes sure to land on a different row than Akira.

Their last target is nothing special, but his final attack hits Goro just right and he finds himself on the ground before he’s entirely sure what happened, stunned and aching. Pathetic. He’s allowing himself to be too distracted.

“Crow!” Akira’s voice rings in his ears and he shakes his foggy head, pushing himself up. Before he can get very far, there are strong hands on him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—fine—” In the interest of politeness, Goro really has no choice but to let Akira help him up. The cool wave of a healing spell ripples over him and he glances into Akira’s dark eyes. “That’s really not necessary, don’t waste—”

“It’s fine. We’re practically done now, anyway.” Even though Goro is solidly back on his feet, Akira’s hands linger on his waist, his face only inches away, and Goro is once again assailed by Akira’s unique scent. It’s _definitely_ stronger than usual, and, as Goro takes an involuntary breath, he thinks it’s even stronger than it was a few minutes ago. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Akira asks, searching Goro’s face.

“Yes.” Goro grabs at Akira’s wrists, intending to gently pry his hands away. “I appreciate the concern, but—”

Before Goro can finish, Akira sways forward, eyes clouding over, and noses at the skin just under Goro’s ear.

“Joker—!”

“You—smell really good—” Joker inhales deeply, pulling Goro against him, and Goro looks around frantically, cheeks burning.

The others have all frozen, staring at the scene with dropped jaws.

“Uh, Joker?” Ryuji tries.

Akira doesn’t seem to hear him, burying his face in Goro’s neck as his arms snake farther around Goro’s waist.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

“Did you say something to him, Crow?” Makoto asks.

“No,” Goro insists, pushing at Akira’s chest in an attempt to wedge him away. “He just grabbed me.”

“Oracle, is it a status effect?”

Futaba grimaces, face dyed green by her floating screen. “No? His body temperature is elevated but that’s all I can see.”

Akira _does_ feel hot, a solid line of warmth seeping through the layers of their clothes as he mindlessly plasters himself even tighter against Goro, nuzzling into the crook of Goro’s neck. The point of his mask digs into Goro’s cheek. “Well, could one of you do something instead of standing around staring?” he asks, quickly losing patience. The heat of Akira’s body is sinking inexorably into him, pooling at the base of his spine.

“Sorry, Crow!” Ann hurries over and takes Akira by the shoulder. “Hey, big guy, this really isn’t the place to be cuddling,” she soothes, shaking him gently as though trying to wake a sleepwalker, and Goro can smell how she intentionally lets her calming omega scent waft over them.

It seems to work a bit, as Akira lifts his head and looks at her, blinking bemusedly. “What—?”

“You’re kind of squishing Crow,” Ann chuckles, tugging at him.

Akira loosens his grip, looking down at himself, then up at Goro’s face. Goro keeps his head turned to the side, partially to keep the beak of his mask out of the way and partially to avoid meeting Akira’s eyes. “I’m…what am I doing?” Akira sounds almost drunk, bleary and puzzled.

“Man, you must be _really_ tired.” Ann manages to pull one of Akira’s arms loose and he goes the rest of the way willingly, shaking his head. “Let’s finish up and go home, okay? Then you can get some rest.”

“Yeah—” Akira takes an unsteady step backward and Goro nearly gasps in relief, escaping Akira’s orbit as soon as he can. “Sorry, Crow, I don’t know—”

“It’s quite alright.” Goro busies his hands with straightening his uniform. “I suspect we’re all going a little batty right about now.” He pastes on a blithe smile, hoping that the sickly red light of Mementos will hide the pink staining his cheeks.

Akira nods uncertainly and heads off with Ann. The others fall in behind them and Futaba catches up to Goro instantly, regarding him thoughtfully.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Of course. He was just hugging me.”

“I mean other than that. You’ve looked pale all day.”

Goro swallows. “Well, we’ve all been tired recently.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t look convinced but Goro ignores her and speeds up.

They never make it to Jose. On the way there, Goro is struck by a sudden rush of dizziness and stumbles, reaching out to brace against a grimy tiled pillar. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what’s going on. He should have another half day at the _least_ before the symptoms start. He tracks his cycle religiously for this exact reason, so why is this happening—

“Crow? Are you alright?” Yusuke’s smooth voice cuts through Goro’s anxious thoughts and he forces himself to look up, meeting Yusuke’s vulpine mask with a tired smile.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just lost my balance for a moment.”

“Oh dear.” Yusuke places a hand on Goro’s elbow, clearly intending to help him upright. “Perhaps we should head back right away.”

“No, it’s nothing so serious, I—”

The rest of Goro’s words are lost in a deafening roar as black smoke erupts around them. Yusuke’s hand is ripped away from his arm and before Goro can get his bearings, a hard body slams into him, taking him all the way to the floor with a painful _thud_. The impact punches the breath from his lungs and jarrs his mask right off his face.

“What the—!”

A low growling noise starts above him, vibrating through his chest where it’s pressed against—

“Joker!”

The others are shouting, and Goro shakes his head, trying to orient himself as the smoke clears. Above him, Akira shifts, muscles tense and trembling faintly as he cages Goro against the ground with his body, and Goro blinks in shock at the sight of Arsene’s distinctive spiky legs braced in front of them, the persona sunk in a defensive position as he and Akira both stare down the other thieves.

Through the fading smoke, Goro can make out the rest of the team, baffled and crouched as though under attack. Makoto is helping a fallen Yusuke to his feet while Morgana slowly creeps closer.

“Joker, what are you—”

Akira snarls, a frighteningly animalistic sound, and Arsene pulses with light, freezing Morgana in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Goro hisses, grabbing at Akira’s sleeves. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Akira wrenches his gaze down to Goro and Goro is stunned still by the fierce intensity burning behind his blown-out pupils.

“Joker?” he breathes, an instinctive shiver sliding up his spine.

“Crow, are you okay?” comes Haru’s worried cry, and Akira jerks his attention back to the others, growling. They all step back, wide-eyed.

“I’m—I’m okay—” Goro shifts his weight, assessing himself. Other than the ache from hitting the ground, he seems to be fine. “But I don’t know why he’s acting like this—”

“Oh, holy shit, I might—” Futaba sounds frazzled, hunched behind Ryuji as she scans her screen. “That shadow did do something to him earlier! It just took a while to take effect!”

“Well?” Goro prompts, attempting to push Akira to gain some space between them, but Akira just bears down with an irritated rumble.

“According to his biometric readings—” Futaba sucks in a breath through her teeth, “—Joker is in rut.”

The thieves rustle in surprise and Goro feels his jaw go slack.

“Are you sure?” Ann demands at the same time Ryuji shouts “No way!”

“How is that possible?” Makoto demands. “Joker isn’t mated.” She casts a look around the group. “Right?”

“No way, dude!” Ryuji insists. “We’d know!”

Morgana’s tail whips anxiously. “When that shadow kissed him, she must have done something!”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Futaba agrees. “Whatever that Lilith did to him made it possible for him to have a rut without being mated.”

Goro stares up at Akira, cataloguing the restless bunching of his muscles and the sweat tracing lines down the side of his face. His scent is nearly overwhelming, filling Goro’s head until he can taste the earthy sweetness on the back of his tongue. Akira shifts, knees scraping against the subway floor, and curls himself lower over Goro’s prone body, pressing his heat and scent even closer. Goro’s heart thunders in his ears.

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain what he’s doing,” Makoto points out. “Even if he’s in—in rut, why is he acting like this?”

“His protective instincts are going haywire.” Yusuke has regained his footing, rubbing at his chest where Goro assumes Arsene struck him. “I have been warned about this. Ruts can be very dangerous outside of a controlled environment. Rutting alphas can sometimes lose their higher faculties and start acting on pure instinct.”

“So he’s just lost it?” Ryuji asks incredulously. “He attacked you and now he’s—what? Attacking Crow?”

“Not attacking—” Ann lowers herself to her knees, peering past Arsene and catching Goro’s eyes. “Protecting.”

Goro groans, thumping his head against the ground, and Akira stirs at the sound, ducking down to press his face into the crook of Goro’s neck. Briefly, Goro considers kneeing him in the crotch and making a break for it, but if Joker really is running on pure instinct, Arsene would likely stop him, and Goro doesn’t really want to get into a fight with Akira in this state.

“From what?” Ryuji is asking.

“Think about it—Joker flipped out when Fox touched Crow,” Ann says. “Fox is an alpha. Joker is defending his territory.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Goro’s mouth and Akira nuzzles closer, inhaling noisily.

“I thought alphas only reacted biologically to omegas—” Makoto sounds annoyed. “Crow is a beta!”

“Sorry, that was a lie,” Goro calls over. There’s no point keeping it a secret anymore. Everything else is falling apart, why not that too? “I pretend to be a beta for publicity reasons.”

“Wha—dude, you’re an omega!?” Ryuji yells.

“That kind of delicacy is precisely why I keep that fact to myself, Skull, thank you.”

“Sorry, I just—”

“That’s why Joker is so attached to you!” Ann concludes.

“Excellent, we’ve solved the mystery.” Goro places his hands on Akira’s shoulders, but shoving proves fruitless. Akira's pervasive scent and warm weight hemming him in are turning Goro's muscles to liquid, his brain shorting out as his biology wavers in the face of Akira's. "But we can't stay like this all day!"

"He's right, Joker," Ann coos, inching closer on her hands and knees. "This place is dangerous—don't you want to go somewhere more safe?"

Akira whips his head up, a snarl tearing through his bared teeth, and Ann freezes, even before Arsene straightens up, claws sparking with a charging attack.

“Take cover!” Morgana dives to the side and the others scramble out of the way just as the blast shoots past them.

It strikes the subway wall with a deafening crack and the air buzzes in its wake.

“He just attacked us!” Ryuji screeches. “Arsene, bro, what the hell!”

“He won’t let anyone near,” Yusuke coughs, reaching for Haru. “His persona is merely acting on his will.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Ann asks shrilly.

“We might have to fight him if we want to get them out of here.” Makoto rises in a defensive stance, clearly ready should the need arise.

“Would a healing spell calm him down?” Haru questions hopefully.

“Good luck getting close enough to get one off.” Futaba sounds doubtful. “Also, he’s charging another one—look out!”

Indeed, another bolt of energy is gathering in front of Arsene, and the thieves duck in preparation, but Goro can’t take this anymore.

“Akira,” he snaps, grabbing the alpha under the jaw and forcing his gaze down. “Stop this _immediately_.”

Akira’s fervent, glassy eyes seem to struggle to focus on Goro, but he doesn’t shake Goro off and his growling softens to a low whine.

“Is this how the noble leader of the Phantom Thieves acts?” Goro continues, deliberately allowing his scent to leak out, lending a biological persuasion to his words. “A slave to his instincts? Attacking his friends?”

Nostrils flaring, Akira blinks hard, and, above them, Arsene’s wings twitch restlessly, feathers ruffling.

“Pitiful.” Goro keeps his voice low, the words just for Akira’s addled brain, and exerts a steady pressure on Akira’s jaw. “I won’t tolerate this base behavior.”

Slowly, Akira yields to Goro’s pushing, moving back and lifting the oppressive wall of his scent and body that was keeping Goro pinned. Goro doesn’t stop, guiding Akira with a firm grip on his face all the way up and to the side. Bonelessly, Akira collapses sideways and Goro flips their positions to straddle Akira’s waist, holding Akira against the floor with only one hand and sucking in a fortifying breath.

“Like an animal,” he mutters, staring down at Akira’s flushed face, his bright, hungry eyes.

Bizarrely, Akira purrs, trying to nuzzle into Goro’s hand. Alphas possess a secondary, mostly vestigial anterior laryngeal chamber, which used to allow them to make animalistic vocalizations like purring and growling. Some alphas can still use those muscles, but Goro has never heard Akira do it, so the low, deep rumble echoing in the space between them makes him blink.

A rush of air and whirl of smoke draws his attention up to see that Arsene has abandoned his attack pose in favor of kneeling down, bowing low over Goro and peering at him with glowing, inscrutable eyes.

“Go ahead and dismiss Arsene,” Goro tells Akira. “There’s no danger here.”

Akira just blinks dumbly up at him, the words clearly not penetrating the haze of his rut, and Goro sighs. Reaching up, he pats his free hand against Arsene’s massive, mask-like face. The persona’s eyes slit like a pleased cat’s.

“You’re making the others nervous,” he tells Arsene. “They’re your friends, right? Not threats.”

Arsene doesn’t say anything, at least not anything that Goro can hear, but after a second, he dips his head and swirls apart, leaving Goro’s hand resting against nothing.

“Crow! Holy shit!” Ryuji yells as the patter of footsteps signals the approach of the others. “How’d you do that?”

Akira tenses underneath him, but Goro tightens his grip on Akira’s face warningly, sweeping his disordered hair out of his eyes as the thieves surround them.

“You dismissed his persona!” Morgana is chirping. “That’s amazing!”

“Well, he clearly wasn’t going to do it.” Goro is painfully aware that he’s sitting on Akira’s abdomen in front of all his teenage friends, but he doesn’t dare move yet, continuing to release pheromones in the hope that he can block the other thieves’ scents somewhat. “I hope none of you are injured.”

“Fox got punted—” Ryuji smacks Yusuke on the back. “But he’s okay.”

“Yes, Arsene merely swatted me away,” Yusuke affirms, looking more put out by the smack than by his earlier ordeal.

“This is crazy—” Futaba is glancing avidly between Akira and her screen, scrolling quickly. “I’ve never seen a persona act like that, or respond to commands from another person! It really gives a new dimension to the idea that personas are an extension of will—Joker clearly wasn’t giving Arsene orders—he was just acting on pure instinct! It’s amazing, I wonder if I could—”

Something about the manic gleam of her glasses and the rapid-fire stream of her speech summons images of Wakaba Isshiki to Goro’s mind and he looks away, stomach churning.

Below him, Akira makes a low chirping sound in the back of his throat, and then there are hands on Goro’s thighs. Goro jumps, snagging one of Akira’s wrists.

“He’s really out of it, huh?” Ann sighs, crossing her arms. “I wonder why he’s so attached to you, Crow. He got all up in your business earlier too.”

“I’m as clueless as you are,” Goro responds through gritted teeth, shoving Akira’s hand away and catching the other as it tries to slip up his tunic.

“No offense, of course!” Ann hurries to assure him. “I was just wondering—since it’s not like you’re the only omega in the group, and Haru and I smell _way_ stronger than you—although—” she pauses, sniffing delicately. “Now I can _definitely_ smell you. Wow—you smell good, Crow! Kind of like...peaches. And something floral. It’s really nice!”

Goro wants to hide his face in his hands but they’re both occupied. “Thanks.”

“Yes—” Yusuke inhales as well, scenting the air. “I was wondering what that scent was earlier, but as I thought you were a beta, I had no reason to connect it to you.”

“So why exactly are you disguising your dynamic?” Makoto asks suspiciously.

“Queen, don’t you think that might be private?” Haru entreats.

“No, it’s—fine—” With a grunt, Goro gives up and allows Akira to splay his hands on his thighs. The red leather of Akira’s gloves is striking against the white fabric, like two spidery bloodstains. “I was advised by people in the television industry to claim to be a beta, no matter what my actual dynamic is. It makes me more relatable, since the majority of people are betas. I can name several popular television personalities who are hiding their dynamics.” It’s an easy lie, since it’s based in truth.

Makoto narrows her eyes behind her mask. “But it’s not like you’re a TV star. You’re a detective who happens to be on TV sometimes.”

“And when I started making TV appearances, I was a minor.” Goro pastes on a disarming smile. “The world isn’t a safe place, Queen. I’m sure you know that.”

That seems to bring her up short and her aggressive body language falters.

“Oracle, do you think a healing spell or an item would fix—” Ann gestures vaguely at Akira splayed out on the ground, “—this?”

Futaba twists her mouth to the side. “I don’t think so. Those things work on wounds and status effects, but this is body chemistry. Besides, I already blasted him with one. No change.”

“The metaverse is all about cognition, right?” Makoto crosses her arms, gathering herself. “So our states are more suggestible. Maybe if we get him back into the real world, this will go away.”

Goro glances down at Akira’s flushed face and vacant eyes. “Regardless, we can’t stay here. He can’t fight like this, and if we run into something powerful, we could be in trouble.”

Ryuji groans. “Ugh, good point. Let’s head back before we all end up dead.”

As one, the group looks at Akira. He certainly doesn’t seem interested in contributing to their escape plan, feeling up and down Goro’s thighs and purring.

“Mona, you go ahead and transform—” Makoto orders. “We’ll...handle Joker.”

It takes some careful maneuvering, but they manage to get Akira upright and mostly stable. Now that the drama has died down, he seems less defensive, all of that instinct channelled into clinginess, and as long as he’s allowed to stick to Goro’s side, he’s easily prodded in the direction of the Monabus.

Goro notices that both Ann and Haru seem a little unsteady on their feet, no doubt starting to react to Akira’s overwhelming rut scent, and he does his best to plant himself between them and his gangly, purring leech, volunteering to sit in the back.

Ann opens her mouth like she’s about to protest, but gives her head a sharp shake, frowning in confusion. “Yeah—Haru, let’s sit in the front.”

Even if she’s not interested in Akira, and Goro is fairly sure she’s not, an alpha’s rut is incredibly potent: any omega in the vicinity, especially one with a personal connection to the alpha, would naturally be affected, their innate submissive instincts rising to the surface.

Similarly, Yusuke is visibly bothered and offers to drive, leaving the three beta team members as a sort of barrier in the center row. Yusuke is the mildest alpha Goro has ever met, including even the seemingly lackadaisical Akira. If it wasn’t for his improved sense of smell, Goro would never even peg the soft-spoken and spacey Yusuke as an alpha, but his seawater and sweet citrus scent is unmistakable. In general, though, he’s walking proof that dynamic can have nothing to do with bearing or personality, and even he can’t deny the effect Akira’s pheromones are having on him. As opposed to the girls, however, his biology is telling him to beware potential threats.

While Akira appears quiet and subdued at first glance, something about him screams _alpha_. At least to Goro. Goro has become very adept over the years at reading people, including sussing out their dynamics, and when they first met at the TV station, Akira lit up on his perception like a beacon. It’s something in his lax posture and watchful eyes. Everything he does, he does with certainty, whether it be lining up a pool shot or flipping away from an attack. There’s a grace in his body that’s mesmerizing to witness. He moves like a predator.

Even as he wraps himself around Goro in the backseat of the bus, he’s sinuous and purposeful.

And Goro isn’t doing well.

Like the others, he’s not immune to the pheromones Akira is spreading and by this point he’s _drenched_ in them. In addition to his usual sensitivity, his approaching heat is ensuring that he can barely think past the hormones screaming through his body.

Omegas shouldn’t be near a rutting alpha. Omegas in heat _really_ shouldn’t be near a rutting alpha.

Some of his distress must leak out because Akira whines suddenly, snuffling at the sweat gathering along Goro’s neck, and it takes all of Goro’s self-control not to melt into the touch.

“Dude, are you okay?” It’s Ryuji, mask off and twisted in his seat to fix Goro with a surprisingly concerned expression. “You look sick.”

“I—” Goro tries to give a false reassurance that he’s just tired and wrong-footed by everything happening, but the words vanish in a surge of dizzy heat and he slumps forward.

“Crow—!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hey, what—!”

The car swerves suddenly and several of the thieves shriek while, from outside, Morgana yowls in surprise.

Akira whines again, louder, and Goro finds himself corralled against the side of the bus, Akira’s unyielding form bracketing him as he struggles to gather himself.

“Crow, are you okay?” Ryuji tries to hoist himself into the backseat but Akira snaps in his direction like a dog and he freezes. “What the eff is going on?”

Makoto drags Ryuji back into his seat while Futaba is seemingly trying to mediate some sort of situation in the front row.

“You’re in heat,” Makoto accuses, eyes narrow. “I can smell it now.”

“I’m—” Goro shakes his head bemusedly. “It’s not supposed to hit—until tomorrow—”

“Having a rutting alpha nearby is definitely messing with you,” Futaba states, swiveling to face them, her screen unfolding in front of her. “Your vitals are going nuts!”

“This is a nightmare,” Goro mutters, even as his fingers curl involuntarily into the back of Akira’s coat. “I need—I need to take my medicine—before I go into a breeding heat—”

“Could that happen?” Makoto asks sharply.

“Normally? No,” Futaba responds. “But normally, an alpha wouldn’t go into rut without being mated—and even then, only if their partner is in heat too.”

“This is so effed up.” Ryuji is blushing, averting his eyes from the way Akira and Goro are tangled together in the seat. “Makes me glad I’m a beta.”

“That’s probably why Joker was reacting to you,” Futaba points out. “Because you were so close to your heat. And then his pheromones exacerbated yours, and now here we are.”

Goro tips his head back against the window as another wave of swirling warmth churns through him. “Most likely.”

“Do you have your medicine with you?” Makoto asks.

“In—my briefcase—”

“Yusuke, step on it!”

“Looking at your biometrics—” Futaba says, scrolling through something on her screen, “—you probably won’t be able to delay your actual cycle at this point, but the suppressants _should_ take enough of the edge off to keep it from turning into a breeding heat.”

When Goro woke up this morning, he really didn’t expect to be discussing his estrus cycle with the goddamn Phantom Thieves while their leader pants into the crook of his neck, but nothing ever goes the way he plans.

“Hopefully, leaving Mementos will snap Joker out of—” Futaba gestures at the general state of their leader. “If not—well, I guess—”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it,” Makoto interrupts. “Just—try to relax, Crow.”

“I’ll get right on that, thank you,” Goro grits out.

Thankfully, at the very least, Akira isn’t trying to undress him. He’s seemingly content to coil around Goro and mingle their scents, purring low in his chest. And, humiliatingly, Goro finds himself relaxing into it.

Goro’s never been particularly ruled by his instincts. His improved sense of smell and the natural skittishness that comes with being an omega have served him well in his goals, but he always viewed his dynamic as something separate from himself. Even his heats, carefully controlled with medication, were always mild. Nothing but a day of uncomfortable fever every four months. Easy to hide. Keeping his dynamic a secret was less a personal preference and more to do with the fact that Shido would know the dynamic of the illegitimate child he sired. Children present at birth, so he’d be wary of omegas around Goro’s age taking an interest in him, but a beta might not raise his suspicions. Goro would have had the glands in his neck removed completely and eliminate his heat cycle for good if he was confident he could find a doctor trustworthy enough, despite the ramifications that can have for an omega’s fertility. Intellectually, he’s not interested in mating or having children, but this situation, if nothing else, is reminding him painfully that his body doesn’t care what his rationality wants.

All his body cares about is Akira’s commanding scent and the hard body between his legs, two things that signal inevitable relief for the gnawing, gripping heat tightening around him like a vice. His body doesn’t care that Goro is actually Akira’s enemy, all it knows is _compatible alpha_. It’s probably driving his instincts crazy being near a rutting alpha who isn’t his mate, but the end result is the same.

Goro wants Akira more than he’s ever wanted anything.

And it’s all just chemicals, he tries to remind himself, swallowing a whimper as Akira presses closer, lips hovering over the delicate skin under his jaw. The desire flooding through him isn’t genuine. It’s a helpless biological reaction, and Akira is the same. He’s not _really_ interested in Goro like this—he’s just the unlucky victim of a perfect storm of coincidences. He’s as powerless as Goro is.

“I really hope you don’t remember any of this,” Goro whispers, too softly to be heard by the others.

Akira coos, snaking his hands further around Goro’s back.

After what feels like far too long, they finally reach the mouth of Mementos and Morgana spits them all out on the ground before shifting back into a cat.

“If I was a real car, I’d never be able to get Joker’s scent out of my upholstery,” he says with a grimace.

Goro, struggling to stand with Akira latched around his waist, presses a hand to his pounding head. “Someone send us back, please.”

“Already on it,” Futaba says. “Everyone get ready—”

The distortion between dimensions ripples around them, aggravating the dizziness swimming through Goro, and it’s only Akira’s firm hold that keeps him upright at all as the app deposits them back on the streets of Shibuya.

Through the faintest stroke of luck, the late hour seems to have driven most people from the sidewalk, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re still in public.

As soon as his briefcase rematerializes in his hand, Goro fumbles it open and grabs the packet of pills inside. Someone presses a water bottle into his hand and he quickly downs all four pills with Akira still plastered against his back.

“Okay—” Makoto takes the bottle from his shaking grip, “—we all need to get inside _now_.”

“I need to get—home—” Goro tries to pry Akira’s arms away but he just holds tighter with a grumble.

“You’re still in heat—” Ann has one hand over her nose but is already herding them briskly down the walkway, “—you can’t go off on your own, and you _definitely_ can’t take the train—Leblanc is closer, let’s go there.”

Goro doesn’t have the energy to argue, his heat still pulsing rapidly through his veins, and can only allow himself to be guided through the dark streets.

Somehow, they make it back to the café, all eight of them spilling through the front door, babbling anxiously to each other, and Futaba flicks the lock immediately. A few lights are still glowing but Sakura-san is nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

As soon as he’s inside, Goro staggers to a booth and sinks down, laying his head on the cool surface of the table. Akira, distracted by the familiar surroundings, is grabbed by each arm and held still while Futaba checks his pupils.

“He doesn’t look like he’s getting better,” Ryuji observes, gripping Akira tighter as he starts to squirm.

“He’s not,” Haru squeaks.

Lifting his head slightly, Goro can make out her, Ann, and Yusuke hovering in the entryway, hands over their faces.

“I think it’s getting worse, actually,” Ann grimaces.

“We shouldn’t stay long.” Yusuke is leaning against the door, looking paler by the second. “This is...not normal. I feel as though I’m starting to lose myself.”

“Yusuke, Ann, Haru, you go outside,” Makoto orders, struggling to drag a reluctant Akira into a barstool. “We’ll...figure out what to do.”

Yusuke and Haru quickly excuse themselves but Ann hesitates in the doorway.

“No, I’m okay.” Closing the door firmly, she resolutely makes her way to Goro’s booth and slides in beside him. Her bright, tart scent is a slight balm on Goro’s frayed instincts.

“So he’s just in rut,” Makoto sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Without a mate. Great.”

Akira, apparently done with being restrained, lurches forward, shaking off Makoto’s grip, and Goro jerks upright. Before Akira can grab him, however, Ann shoots around to kneel on the bench between him and Goro.

“He shouldn’t be here,” she asserts, hands out defensively. “We can’t talk with him in here like this.”

Growling, Akira tries to duck past her, but Ryuji and Makoto recapture him, pulling him back.

“The bathroom!” Morgana runs along the bar toward the door at the back of the shop. “We can block the door!”

Ann doesn’t move out of her protective position as Makoto and Ryuji wrangle an irate Akira into Leblanc’s small washroom and Goro stares blankly at her rigid back. Shoving Akira inside, the others quickly slam the door and Makoto wedges a chair underneath the knob. Instantly, the dull thud of a body hitting wood reverberates through the café and the door shakes but doesn’t give.

“Should we take him to a doctor?” Ryuji asks, swiping his wrist across his brow.

“How would we explain this to a doctor?” Ann wonders reasonably, hunkering down beside Goro again. “A rut without a mate shouldn’t even be possible!”

“Yeah, but in that case what if this hurts him? Or makes him sick or something?”

“From what I could tell—” Futaba pipes up as Makoto, Ryuji, and Morgana wander back over, scanning something on her phone, “—and what I’m reading online, Akira’s symptoms are totally in line with a normal, albeit _intense_ , rut for an alpha of his height and weight. BPM, body temperature, cortisol levels—it’s all within normal parameters, so, by all accounts, he should be fine if we just…leave him.”

“No,” Goro rasps.

Everyone snaps their attention to him.

“No?” Futaba repeats.

“We can’t just let it run its course.” Goro drums his fingers on the table. “Without a partner, an alpha’s rut can last two weeks, sometimes longer. Chemically, ruts are only supposed to be triggered by their mate’s heat, so the only natural stopper built in is the _end_ of said heat. When rutting alphas have been separated from their mate, there’s no signal to tell the rut to end. The body literally has to cycle through _all_ of its store of mating pheromones before it stops on its own.” He casts a meaningful look around the group. “We can’t afford to wait that long.”

Makoto swears vehemently while Ryuji groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair, and Morgana’s tail swishes fitfully over the bartop.

“But this rut wasn’t triggered by a heat, so maybe it won’t be like that!” Futaba suggests.

“Do you want to take that chance?” Goro asks. His heart is hammering in his chest, each pump bringing a new wave of distracting warmth, and the dawning realization of what’s going to happen sits in his stomach like a stone. “I don’t.”

The banging on the bathroom door grows louder.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Ryuji demands, but Ann is staring wide-eyed at Goro.

“Akechi, you don’t mean—”

“I only see one solution,” Goro says as evenly as he can manage.

“Wait—” Makoto goes rigid. “You can’t—you’re not his mate, so there’s no assurance that would even work!”

“He’s clearly attached to me, probably due to my increased pheromones.” Goro curls his fist on the tabletop. “And this isn’t a normal situation. It’s possible he instinctively regards me as his mate because I’m in heat.”

“We’re not just going to let you get mauled by a rutting alpha, Akechi,” Ann says sternly. “That’s crazy! We have no way of knowing what could happen to either of you!”

Goro turns sharp eyes on her. “Do you really think your leader would hurt me?”

She blinks.

“He’s not in his right mind,” Makoto reminds them.

“The rut doesn’t make him a different person.”

“But he might not be able to understand what he’s doing!”

“He understands, he’s just operating on a different level than we are.”

“Whoa—hang on—” Ryuji grabs his own head with both hands. “You guys aren’t seriously suggesting—”

“We’re not!” Ann insists.

“What other choice do we have?” Goro demands.

“There’s gotta be _something_ else—” Ann looks at the others frantically, flinching in time with each thunderous crash against the bathroom door. “A suppressant, or something—”

Futaba bites her lip. “Alpha suppressants are basically tranquilizers and we’d have to go to a _hospital_ to even get our hands on some, and then there’s no telling how long he’d be out!”

“But—but this could take a while too, right?” Makoto glances between Goro and the bathroom. “Heats can last up to a week! Maybe we should take our chances with the suppressants—”

“Normally, my heats last a day,” Goro interrupts. “I’m fully caught up with my medication. Even if this knocks my cycle off, my pheromone production is too limited to support more than a few days of heat at most.”

“What if we just kept you two close?” Morgana pipes up. “So Akira could still smell you, but you wouldn’t have too, you know—”

“That would just drive him crazy.” Goro cuts a look at Ann, taking in her stricken expression. Like him, she can smell how desperate Akira is, even through the bathroom door. “He might hurt himself. And then we’d be in even more trouble.”

“But, dude!” Ryuji protests. “What if you get—” he hunches his shoulders, lowering his voice like someone is going to overhear him, “— _pregnant_?”

Goro fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “What part of _caught up with my medication_ did you not understand?”

“If Akira’s rut sends you into a breeding heat, that won’t matter!” Ann shouts.

“He’s still not my mate!”

“Then how do you even know this will work at all?”

“It’s the only option we have!” Goro’s voice rises beyond his control, filling the café, and Akira’s frantic banging stutters, giving way to a long, low whine that makes Goro’s stomach drop. “We are on a deadline and any other course of action will definitely take a week or more! That’s time we don’t have! This option, at _most,_ will take a few days, and if something goes wrong and his rut doesn’t end, then we were sunk from the beginning anyway! At least this way we have a shot!”

“But this is crazy,” Ann pleads, all shining blue eyes, grabbing his sleeve. “We can’t ask this of you—you barely know us—”

“And how do we know we can trust you?” Makoto cuts in fiercely.

“Makoto!”

“It’s a fair question,” Futaba puts in. “Akira is more-or-less helpless like this—if something happens, he won’t be able to defend himself.”

Goro meets her gaze. “You think I’d use this opportunity to murder him?”

She narrows her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being wary.”

“Well, get over it. Unless you’d like to stay and watch.”

The distinctive sound of fingernails scratching against wood emanates from the bathroom and the thieves all flinch.

“I am not going to hurt him,” Goro forces out, fixing each of them in turn with an intent stare. “I know we’re not friends, and you don’t trust me, but I’m on your side right now. I don’t want him to suffer needlessly.”

“What about you?” Ryuji steps away from where he’s been leaning against the bar. “Even I know that this—” he gestures toward the bathroom, “—isn’t normal, and you’re both already super messed up. You’re really just cool with this?”

“There’s nothing to be _cool_ with.” A rueful smile curls the corner of Goro’s mouth. “This is just one teammate helping out another. I’m sure any of you would do the same in my position. Or are you saying that, were it within your power, you wouldn’t help him?”

“Dude, we’re just worried about you!”

“I will be fine.” Goro shoves himself to his feet, swaying slightly as the room spins, and he feels Ann take his arm, following him up. “Now, since we’re agreed, we really don’t—”

“We’re not agreed!” Ann protests.

“No, Ann—” Makoto screws her face up, looking pained, “—he’s right. This is our best choice.”

“Makoto, this is too dangerous, you can’t seriously be considering this!”

Akira slams against the door again, and this time the loud thud is accompanied by a hollow cracking sound.

“You all need to leave,” Goro says briskly, herding Ann out of the booth despite her sour look. “I’ll contact you when it’s safe to return.”

“What about Boss?” Ann points out. “This is his business, he won’t—”

“You’ll have to come up with a way to keep him out for a few days.”

“He won’t be happy,” Futaba points out, even as she stuffs her laptop into her bag. “Joker is in his custody—if anything happens to him—”

“Tell him it’s me, then,” Goro suggests. “Tell him my suppressant failed and I’m stuck here riding out my heat. Sakura-san is an alpha—he won’t want to be around an unfamiliar omega in heat. Tell him Akira is helping me.”

Another crash, another splitting _crack_.

“Oh god, oh god—” Ann is muttering, head in her hands. “This can’t be happening—Akechi, this isn’t fair, you can’t—”

“I appreciate your preoccupation with my safety, Takamaki-san, but please respect the choice I’m making.”

“But you’re in heat! Neither—neither of you are in a state to—”

“Sakamoto, take her outside—”

“Do _not_ ignore me, Akechi!” With a sudden burst of ferocity, Ann grabs Goro by his lapels and forces him to meet her flashing eyes. “I know what heat can do to your brain and I can’t trust that you’re making a rational decision right now! This isn’t just something you can jump into!”

“Takamaki-san—”

“I don’t care how eager you are to sacrifice yourself! Your ability to consent is compromised right now and I’m not just going to walk away!”

Goro blinks in the face of her determination, a completely different kind of warmth bleeding through the feverish tangle in his gut. “That is...admirable, Takamaki-san, but please—”

“There has to be _something_ else we can do.” An edge of desperation colors her words, and Goro is abruptly reminded of the sexual harassment she faced at the hands of an adult alpha, and that her closest friend attempted suicide after being pressured by the same alpha.

“Listen to me,” he starts, as calmly as he can manage, taking hold of her wrists. “I am still in my right mind. My heats are always mild. Even in this bizarre situation, I am fully capable of rational thought—at least right now, and I promise you I am _choosing_ to do this.”

Her bottom lip trembles and her brows pinch together anxiously.

“Thank you for being concerned for me.”

“Akechi, this is so stupid!” She shakes him lightly by his collar. “You shouldn’t have to do this!”

“In a perfect world, I wouldn’t—but we’re dealing with things very far beyond the realm of normal. I will be as safe as possible.”

“Ugh—” Finally releasing him, Ann pulls away to swipe angrily at her eyes. “You—you better call if _anything_ goes wrong!”

Though he highly doubts he’ll be in any position to speak on the phone, Goro nods.

“And if you need something!” Ann continues. “I’ll try to come by and drop off some supplies soon.”

A loud whine from the bathroom jolts the others into action.

“Seriously, Akechi-kun—” Makoto says, scooping up Morgana and shepherding the others toward the door, “—if anything goes wrong, call. We’ll figure something else out.”

Goro follows them to the front. “Understood.”

Ann ducks out first and Goro watches through the window as she darts over to Haru and starts speaking quickly.

“Look out for him, okay?” Ryuji scratches the back of his head, looking awkward. “He seems all cool, but he’ll probably freak out when he snaps out of this.”

“I can only imagine,” Goro agrees.

“We’ll do our best to convince Sojiro to stay away,” Futaba says. “If he finds out Joker is in rut, he’ll flip, but you’re right that he won’t want to come if he thinks it’s an omega problem.”

“I think this is all pretty weird, but—” Morgana shakes his head. “Good luck, Akechi. You’ll probably need it.”

“Okay.” Makoto fixes him with a stern look. “We’re trusting you, Akechi-kun.”

“I will do my best.” Goro nods and attempts a pleasant smile.

They don’t appear particularly eased, but Makoto opens the door, only for Ann to slip back inside.

“Hang on—” She holds something up in front of Goro’s face. “Haru gave me this when I told her what’s happening. You should wear it.”

Goro stares at the heat collar with horror curdling in his chest. “Why does Okumura-san have something like this?”

“She says she used to wear them to her father’s business events. He apparently liked to show off the fact that she was an omega to entice potential mates. This one was still in her bag since the last party.” Ann undoes the buckle mechanism and loosens the dark band.

Heat collars are made specifically for use during heats between unmated alphas and omegas. Even though the alpha isn’t in rut, the pheromones can occasionally be overwhelming, and it’s safer to avoid unwanted matings. However—

“He can’t mate me unless I bite him back,” Goro points out. “And I’m not interested in doing that.”

“Still, even non-binding mating bites can scar, right?” Ann offers the collar. “There’s nothing wrong with being safe.”

He can’t argue with her, and the firm glint in her eyes indicates she won’t be denied, so, despite the disgust rising in his throat, Goro accepts the collar and slides it over his head. Ann helps him buckle it and when she steps back, it sits heavily just under his Adam’s apple, not tight enough to be restrictive, but snug enough to cover the scent glands bracketing the top of his spinal column.

“This is so freaky,” Ryuji whispers.

“I’ll handle things from here.” Goro offers them all a smile and a wave, trying to inject some confidence into the farewell. “See you all soon.”

None of them look soothed or pleased as they reluctantly slip out of the café. As soon as Ann’s blonde curls clear the doorframe, Goro closes the door and locks it with finality. Through the window, he can see the thieves huddled together on the sidewalk, speaking amongst themselves but he forces himself to turn away.

Finally, alone, Goro peers into the dim café, and his eyes instantly alight on the bathroom.

Akira is quiet, no whining or banging breaking the hushed tension falling over the room, and Goro swallows. The motion ripples against the collar around his neck.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself. “I can do this. This is just business. Nothing else.”

First, he needs to make sure things are set up. As best he can, anyway. Ideally, he would have had time to actually prepare, but, as he observed earlier, nothing goes according to plan.

By the time he’s finished stashing some water bottles and cleaning supplies in Akira’s attic loft, Goro is sweating and the scratching has started back up behind the bathroom door. As he passes, Goro pats the wood.

“Just a few more minutes,” he whispers.

He plugs his phone in within reach of Akira’s bed, in case he needs to call for help, and removes his blazer, draping it over Akira’s desk chair. Undressing completely would probably be efficient, but he has to return to the dining area to get Akira, and he refuses to do something so perverted.

After some deliberation, he flips on Akira’s desk lamp and switches the rest of the attic lights off.

Then he really can’t delay any further. The fever mounting in his veins is becoming difficult to think through. And still, he hesitates in front of the bathroom door.

If he focuses, spreading his awareness outside the confines of his body, he thinks he can sense Akira’s burning, coiled form just beyond the thin plank of wood, illuminating his mental radar like always, and his heart throbs dizzyingly in his chest.

Hands shaking, Goro drags the chair aside, unblocking the doorknob. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he swings the door open.

Akira doesn’t instantly launch himself at him, though he does lurch forward, bracing himself against the doorframe, and Goro is nearly bowled over by the concentrated wave of pheromones that slams into him. Bright slate eyes regard Goro from under sweaty fringe, sending an instinctive shiver down Goro’s spine.

When Akira continues to linger on the threshold, Goro takes a shallow breath, scanning his wary body language.

“Sorry we had to lock you in there,” he starts softly, and Akira twitches at the sound of his voice. “We had to...sort some things out. But it’s okay now.”

A low whine reverberates out of Akira’s chest and he glances between Goro’s face and the ground, looking uncertain.

“You’re not in trouble. It’s—” Goro goes to raise his hands and realizes he’s still wearing his gloves. Quickly, he strips them both off and lets them fall to the floor. “Come here,” he orders, beckoning Akira forward. He’s not sure how gentle to be, how much Akira will remember of this encounter, but he shouldn’t drop the act too much. Just in case.

Akira sways toward him, sniffing like a curious dog, and each step closer brings a new wave of forest and vanilla, heightened and deepened by rut pheromones, until Goro’s head is swimming with it. When Akira enters his radius, close enough for Goro to feel the radiant heat of his body, his muscles tense, his animal brain preparing to run from the perceived threat. As docile as Akira seems, the undercurrent to his scent, the glitter of his gaze, and the smooth pace of his steps speak to something possessive. Something hungry.

Hands land on his waist and Goro has to fight not to duck away from the touch. Instead he deliberately reaches for Akira’s face, and the first brush of his bare hands against Akira’s flushed skin slides through him like boiling water. Akira’s eyes flash.

“We’re alone,” Goro breathes. “It’s...okay.”

The whine flips into a rumbling purr and Akira tilts his head, bumping his nose against Goro’s as his hands snake around Goro’s back.

Goro inhales haltingly, letting the potent mixture of his own sickly floral scent and Akira’s earthy sweetness drip into his lungs. “I hope you forgive me for this, at least,” he murmurs, before leaning forward and slotting their mouths together.

Instantly, Akira parts his lips, groaning and crushing Goro against his chest. He’s not really in a state of mind for finesse, but the clumsy, desperate slide of his tongue against Goro’s sends heat sparking all the way to Goro’s toes. Goro loops his arms around Akira’s neck, grabbing a handful of inky curls as the fever inside him surges forward.

Akira kisses forcefully, little noises spilling from his seeking mouth, and Goro finds himself backed against the wall, a long leg inserted between his own. Knees weak from the overwhelming combination of _everything_ , Goro clings to Akira, unable to do anything but allow Akira to take from his mouth. As Akira ducks down to suck the sensitive skin under Goro’s ear, Goro drags in a reedy breath, blinking stars out of his eyes.

Teeth graze just above the heat collar and Goro jumps, tightening his fist in Akira’s hair, but the contact is light, nothing but a faint brush that nevertheless zips down Goro’s spine like electricity. The pleased purr in Akira’s chest pitches up, rumbling through them both, and Goro’s heat flares brighter in response, lighting up his nerve endings so that every touch, every hot breath panted against his skin, every wet flick of tongue and hard fingertip pressed against his back sings through him in a rush of sensation.

He knows it’s just his heat talking, his body reacting to not just its own biological imperative, but the commanding influence of Akira’s as well—but Akira fits so perfectly against him. He slides like a puzzle piece into every dip and curve of Goro’s body, and as he molds to Goro’s shape, Goro can feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against his groin.

This is going to make things messy. Giving into his desire for Akira, which shamefully predated this unfortunate series of coincidences, while he knows full well what’s coming is going to make things even more complicated than they have to be. Goro’s been compartmentalizing his emotions regarding each bloody step of his plan for years, so he’s used to silencing his misgivings, but the horrific relief pounding through him as Akira folds against him is new. And frightening.

It was bad enough when he learned that the boy he’d become so foolishly enamoured with was the leader of the Phantom Thieves and therefore destined to die at his hand, but he thought he had it managed. This, however—how does he manage something like this?

Regardless, he doesn’t have a choice. The plan is moving and he can’t afford to stall things now. He wouldn’t survive a fuck up this late in the game. All he can do is lock the panic tightening his chest away deep inside himself. He’ll figure something out. He always does. He has to.

His misgivings scatter like marbles as Akira grinds against him and a pathetic moan falls from his lips. Akira echoes him, snuffling into his hair and repeating the motion, a harsh snap of hips that shoves their erections together, and a bolt of electricity shoots down Goro’s spine. His face burns as he feels the ticklish trace of slick finally leaking down his leg.

When he realizes he’d let Akira fuck him right against the wall if he lost any more of his wits, Goro forces his shaking arms to move, taking Akira firmly by the shoulders and guiding him backward.

Akira goes without resistance but levels him with a pitiful, confused look and Goro swallows.

“Not here,” he rasps. “Let’s—let’s go upstairs. You’ll like it more up there. It smells like you.”

At Akira’s blank look, Goro sighs and slips out of his grip, heading for the stairs.

Akira lets him get a few steps away before lunging forward. Startled, Goro dodges out of the way, backing into the dining room, and Akira quickly swings around, crouched aggressively.

For a second, Goro’s heart leaps into his throat, fearing he misjudged the situation and maybe Akira really is a violent alpha, but then he catches the gleam in Akira’s eyes. The purr vibrating out of Akira’s chest is unchanged, a deep, pleased note that fills the whole café, and Goro scans Akira’s tense body language again.

If Akira had a tail, he’d be wagging it.

“For fuck’s sake,” Goro mutters.

Akira perks up at his voice and jumps forward again, grabbing at him, but Goro ducks out of the way, weaving around Akira and running for the stairs.

“Can’t you be normal?” he calls exasperatedly, mounting the steps and hearing Akira pound after him. Of course not, he answers himself. When has Akira ever been _normal_? He’s all playfulness and games in his right mind, so why not now?

Goro whips around the banister at the top of the stairs but barely makes it three steps into the attic before a weight slams into him from behind, strong arms locking around his waist and toppling him to the floor. A stunned laugh punches out of his chest as Akira crawls over him, purring and chirping in victory. He presses his face between Goro’s shoulder blades, squeezing tightly.

“Okay, alright, you won—” Goro tries to twist in Akira’s grasp, reaching back to smack him lightly on the shoulder. “You got me—”

Akira hums, and from this angle Goro can just make out the edge of his contented smile, the rest hidden in the fabric of Goro’s shirt. Goro’s stomach flips.

Hooking one leg around Akira, Goro quickly reverses their positions, landing astride Akira’s waist as Akira blinks dumbly up at him. “Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it?” Goro brushes Akira’s unruly hair away from his eyes, letting his hand cup the side of Akira’s flushed face. “Even now.”

Hands creep up Goro’s thighs, sliding around his hips as Akira peers up at him with glassy eyes, and Goro feels his lips tug down in a frown.

“I wish you could speak to me.” The words are out before he’s done with the thought, but he realizes with a jolt that it’s true. Akira’s desire is intoxicating, his pheromones heavy with want and the promise of sex, but Goro misses Akira’s acidic tongue, his quick retorts, his willingness to call Goro’s bluff.

The steady patter of Akira’s purring hitches and his brows draw together. That’s all the warning Goro gets before the world upends around him and he finds himself back on the floor, face-up this time with Akira wedged between his legs. Akira nuzzles against his cheek and nips at his startled mouth.

“You—” Goro sighs. “Fine. You want to play? Let’s play.”

An uncountable number of dizzying spins later, Goro is once again on his back, giggling uncontrollably as Akira pins him by both wrists with a playful growl.

“You’re—so weird—” Goro hooks his legs around Akira’s waist but doesn’t try to twist away again. “You wanted to be on top that badly?”

Akira huffs noisily and dips down to literally lick up the side of Goro’s face.

“Oh, for the love of—” Goro’s words trail off in Akira’s mouth as he’s caught in a hard kiss, and he surrenders to it with a moan.

Akira grinds down, pressing their erections together and reminding Goro with a violent flash of heat that he really shouldn’t be playing around. He has a job to do.

It’s difficult to keep a clear head when Akira is acting so sweet.

Clenching his fists, Goro bites at Akira’s open mouth and meets his next clumsy thrust. He needs to move this along.

Akira growls again, less play and more intention this time, and shifts his attention to Goro’s neck, burying his nose under Goro’s jaw and nibbling at the sensitive skin of Goro’s throat.

Swallowing another moan, Goro tips his head back and tightens his legs around Akira’s middle. “Come on, Akira—” he breathes, “—I know you want more, come on—you can have it—”

The ridge of Akira’s cock is undeniable, pressing insistently against Goro’s ass with each jerky motion of Akira’s hips, and Goro’s whole body throbs with instinctive desire. Heat flushes up his chest, sweat prickling along his hairline, and his mouth fills with saliva like he’s preparing to eat a delicious meal. Swallowing shamefully, Goro turns his face into Akira’s hair and breathes in, purposefully flooding his senses with pheromones in an attempt to silence the little voices constantly nattering in his ear.

It kind of works. Stars drifts lazily across Goro’s vision and Akira’s potent scent sends his head spinning pleasantly, as though he just took a hit of some sort of drug. Though maybe that’s exactly what’s happening. Akira is an intoxicant made just for Goro.

He’s still floating when Akira suddenly grabs him by the hips and flips him onto his front, sitting heavily on the backs of Goro’s legs before Goro has a chance to reorient himself.

The cool air of the attic hits Goro’s back as his shirt is roughly pushed up, followed instantly by a hot, wet tongue laving a searing line along the slope of his spine. Hands trembling, Goro reaches back and snags the ruched hem of his shirt, wrestling it completely off and tossing it hopefully far enough to escape damage. The tongue is replaced by curious teeth grazing the knobs of his spine, and Goro feels spindly hands exploring his newly bared torso, sending goosebumps rippling across his skin.

While Akira is distracted mapping out his back with his mouth, Goro works his hands underneath himself and fumbles with his zipper. His clumsy motions bump against the swell of his erection and he jolts, biting his lip as he frantically shoves at his waistband. Akira seems to realize what he’s doing after a second, and a much steadier set of hands drags Goro’s pants all the way to his knees.

It’s awkward, but Goro manages to kick his shoes and socks off, allowing Akira to strip his pants away, leaving him completely exposed to Akira’s exploring touch, and Akira quickly inserts himself between Goro’s legs, propping Goro’s hips up on his thighs. His purring kicks up another level, filling Goro’s head like cotton, and Goro drops his cheek against the hardwood, biting his lip to keep himself from rutting against the scratchy surface of Akira’s jeans.

Finally, now that he’s completely naked, Akira’s arousal seems to take over properly, and Goro flinches at the finger circling his hole. He’s wetter than he’s ever been in his entire life and Akira’s fingertip glides smoothly through the slick dripping down his taint before slipping easily past his rim.

Goro jolts violently, his nerves illuminating at just that minor stimulation, and he fists his hands against the floor. “Akira, hurry—” the plea falls from his mouth despite the fact that Akira probably can’t understand him at the moment, but Akira’s touch is too slow, it’s not enough— “I need more, Akira—please, please—”

Akira’s purring shifts into a deep growl and the touch retreats, leaving Goro shaking helplessly around Akira’s lap as the sound of Akira fumbling with his fly reaches through the haze over his thoughts. In any other situation, he might laugh at their suave, revered leader struggling with something so minor, but now, with his hole clenching desperately and slick running down his thighs, he can’t summon the spite.

Finally, Akira seems to figure it out and Goro gasps at the unfamiliar brush of a long, rigid, _real_ cock against his ass. Goro has two seconds to feel relieved that his heat keeps his muscles loose before Akira slides inside and his head is filled with buzzing, white-hot static.

Goro has no idea how big Akira is normally, but with every inch that passes his rim, some part of Goro’s brain thinks it can’t possibly get any longer, and each time, he’s proven wrong as more hot, smooth flesh spears into him, until he’s breathless, staring sightlessly at Akira’s rickety bed frame, twitching with the overwhelming pleasure sparking up his spine. When Akira finally bottoms out, Goro clenches instinctively and nearly shrieks at the surge of heat that washes through him. Any other day, this would be too much, the obscene stretch beyond painful, but now, with Akira’s scent surrounding him and his heat racing through his veins, Akira’s length fills him _perfectly_ , sinking deep and soothing his body’s pitiful cries for more.

Hands tight around Goro’s waist, Akira pulls back, inch by searing inch, and a reedy sob falls from Goro’s mouth. The tip of Akira’s cock trails a burning, empty path as it goes, and Goro feels himself flutter, already hungry for that girth to be back inside him, but the motion also drags unerringly against his prostate, pooling more pleasure in his gut, and Goro shivers, helpless against the sensations tearing through him.

In his current state, it’s a miracle that Akira is going slowly at all, but the delicacy with which he pushes back in makes Goro want to cry. His heat doesn’t want gentle or careful or tender—every instinct he has is screaming for Akira to _fuck_ him, to pound him into the creaking floorboards, to fill him with cum and knot him and then do it again and again until Goro can’t remember his own name. He wants Akira’s hands pulling his hair and clawing at his skin, scratching and biting and _claiming_ and yes, it’s just the hormones reacting to the scent of Akira’s rut, but that’s no consolation.

Whimpering, Goro pounds his fist against the floor. “Akira, _please_ —please, I need—oh god—”

Akira rocks back again, the rumble in his chest hitching erratically, still too slow—the sluggish heat coursing through Goro does nothing to ease the fever, and Goro grinds back against Akira, forcing his length partially back inside.

“I need more—Akira please, I can’t—” hissing in a breath, Goro presses his forehead against the hardwood, baring his neck and allowing another wave of pheromones to saturate the already heavy air. “Please, _alpha_ —”

Like a dam bursting, something _dark_ floods Akira’s sweet scent, and suddenly there’s a hand clamped right above his collar and Akira is slamming back inside, filling Goro all at once. Toes curling, Goro chokes on his next breath, barely registering what just happened before Akira is thrusting again. A ragged snarl falls from Akira’s mouth, and he hooks his other hand around Goro’s hip, jerking him up on his knees.

Stunned silent and pinned to the floor by his neck, Goro can only take it, feeling his walls expand obscenely with every harsh pump of Akira’s cock. The sobbing pleas of his body finally mellow into a content, searing hum, delighting in Akira’s possessive handling. He doesn’t even realize he’s coming until he’s halfway through it, pulsing around Akira’s length and spilling onto the floor below him as a shocked moan seeps between his clenched teeth.

The abrupt peak of pleasure doesn’t fade, given no rest by Akira’s relentless pounding, and Goro’s legs weaken beneath his weight. He would buckle completely if it weren’t for Akira’s clutching grip on his hip, holding his ass up to meet his thrusts.

Every nerve in his body is screaming, overstimulated after coming so suddenly, unable to handle the flood of arousal and sensation, at direct odds with the well of ever-increasing heat in his core that’s already rallying, ready for _even more_. Vision unfocused, Goro squirms in confused satisfaction, and Akira groans, the most human sound he’s made since they started, his fingernails digging into Goro’s skin.

Akira’s next thrust goes deep, brushing the bottom of that pool of heat in Goro’s stomach, and Goro yelps, spine arching as the reverb tingles all the way into his fingertips, skittering down his legs to his curled toes. Between his shaking legs, his cock is already hard again, and he can feel it swinging heavily with each jerking motion of his body.

Another harsh shove, somehow going impossibly deeper, and a thrill runs through Goro as he realizes that Akira’s getting bigger inside him, his length throbbing and growing to reach as far as possible before—

Akira shudders, hunching over Goro’s back with a wounded keen, and a sweaty brow buries itself between Goro’s shoulder blades as something swells at the base of his cock, nudging against Goro’s entrance.

Goro turns his face into the floor and presses his lips together to keep a shocked gasp from escaping. He’s never given much thought to the prospect of being knotted, because, frankly, he didn’t think it would come up. His future plans never involved a mate, or even a lover, and he _certainly_ never fancied letting an alpha control him like this—but now it’s happening, and he’s blinking back tears at the way his rim burns, stretching beyond even the girth of his biggest toy.

Akira presses his pelvis flush to Goro’s ass and nuzzles against the skin of Goro’s back, rocking slightly, and, through the mind-numbing sensation of his hole spreading to accommodate Akira’s insistent knot, Goro can feel liquid warmth bleeding into his stomach. With one more firm roll of hips, Akira’s knot pops inside, hooking just inside Goro’s rim, plugging him up as Akira’s cum coats his insides.

Eyes rolling back, Goro is helpless against his second orgasm, the sensation of finally being full enough to sate the gnawing emptiness of his body tripping him over the edge again.

This time, the haze closes over him properly, robbing him of any awareness beyond the pleasure sparkling along his synapses and the singing of his instincts. Skin buzzing, he barely feels the kisses bitten into his spine, across his shoulders, the hot mouth sucking at the crook of his neck, but each little touch sends a muted ripple of heat into the embers simmering in his core.

He slumps bonelessly and arms catch him around the waist before the world tilts, and then he’s lying on his side, pulled back against a burning chest. The change in position is abstract, and secondary to the length still buried inside him, brushing impossibly deep with every little motion, and when the shift tugs against their connection, Goro twitches, moaning low in his chest.

Gentle hands run along his arms, over his sides, petting possessively at his bare stomach, as the body behind him purrs a constant, soothing note. Goro can feel the vibrations all the way in his bones, and, combined with the content pleasure washing over him, Akira’s touch and warmth and noise unmoor him completely.

Goro drifts through a humming, simmering half-sleep. Strange how, despite his efforts, the only thing that finally shut his brain up was two orgasms and getting railed into the floor. Good to know.

The haze cracks as a hand on Goro’s shoulder shakes him alert and Goro surfaces with a tired groan, dragging his eyes open to—

“Akechi?”

—the panicked sound of his name.

The cock still inside of him shifts and Goro hisses, groping blindly behind him for Akira’s hip. “Don’t move,” he croaks.

“Akechi, are you okay?” Akira asks hoarsely. “Did I hurt you?”

Goro lets out a heavy breath and waits for his vision to clear. They’re still on the floor, tied together, so it’s probably only been a few minutes, and Goro peers blearily at the dark wood grain in front of him. “I’m okay.” A wry smile twists his lips. “It’s good to hear your voice again, Joker. How’s your memory?”

On his shoulder, Akira’s hand tightens, his thumb sweeping absently over the flushed skin. “Foggy—” he starts hesitantly. “We were...on our way to find Jose….” he sounds unsteady, his words running together. “Then I...what did I….”

“Take your time,” Goro murmurs, eyes slipping closed. His heat is starting to perk up again, swirling warmly through his muscles and he wants to get as much rest as he can before they have to go again.

“It’s fuzzy after that, but I...I remember—” Akira presses forward again, nosing at the nape of Goro’s neck and breathing in. “—you, I could smell you—everywhere—it’s all I could think about—and then—” Goro can hear the frown in his voice, “—I did...this. I remember doing it, but...I couldn’t think straight. I just...wanted you.”

“When that Lilith kissed you, she did something that made you go into rut,” Goro explains tonelessly.

Akira goes still behind him. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Akechi, I can’t be in rut. I don’t have a mate.”

Goro raises a hand and lays it over his face despairingly. “When has the metaverse ever made sense?” he asks, voice muffled. “Shadows don’t care how things are _supposed_ to work. If a shadow can turn you into a rat or make you fall asleep instantly, why can’t it mess with your body chemistry and send you into rut?”

Akira seems to consider that, lying quietly behind him for a beat. “And then I attached myself to the nearest omega,” he guesses softly.

Letting his hand fall to the floor, Goro sighs. “It wasn’t completely random. I was close to my heat and our pheromones interacted a little...violently.”

“And now we have to ride this out together or waste time waiting for the rut to end,” Akira concludes astutely. “Sorry. I should have been more careful.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “Enough gallantry, I can’t stand it. Your cock is in my ass, so I think we’re past that.”

“Right.”

Summoning a flicker of strength, Goro rolls his head back to peer over his shoulder, just catching one half of Akira’s glittering silver gaze in his periphery. “No surprise?”

“About what?”

It’s hard to look unimpressed with a flushed face and a knot in your ass, but Goro thinks he does a commendable job.

To his credit, Akira furrows his eyebrows contritely. “I already knew.”

Snorting, Goro lets his cheek thump back to the floor. “Of course you knew. Did you see my pills on one of our excursions?”

“No, I—” Akira shifts closer, hesitation in every motion, and Goro finds himself drawn more firmly against Akira’s chest, one arm snaking under his head to pillow it, “—I just knew.”

Goro doesn’t fight the change in position, but his heat pulses brighter at the increased contact and his whole body shivers in pleasure. Akira bites off a moan as Goro throbs around his knot and Goro sucks in a cooling breath.

“You—you never cease to surprise me, Kurusu-kun,” he breathes out. “Intuitive, as always.”

“It’s not like—I have a sixth sense for dynamics or anything—” Akira’s hand drifts down Goro’s arm, dipping to flatten against his ribs. “I’ve been around people on suppressants before and couldn’t tell.”

“Then how—?”

“I don’t know—” Akira speaks into Goro’s hair. “It was just instinct. Something about you—” His hips rock forward, and Goro feels his cock twitch deep inside him, still hard even as his knot begins to deflate. “—’s’like—was calling me—”

The arm under Goro’s head crooks, threading fingers into Goro’s hair and holding him still for the hot mouth that latches onto the skin underneath his ear. Goro lets out a strained breath through his teeth, arousal once again trickling down his spine. His own cock jerks against his thigh with renewed interest. “Don’t be—fantastical—”

Akira takes Goro by the hip and tilts backward. Goro bites off a moan at the filthy stretch of his knot slipping free, but Akira doesn’t stop, drawing his length completely out of Goro, until the head pops out, accompanied by a rush of cum and slick that makes Goro’s face burn.

Panting in his ear, Akira tangles his fingers harder in Goro’s hair. “Since the first time I met you—I knew—I could feel it—” A leg slides between Goro’s, plastering them together and pressing the full, slick length of Akira’s cock against the small of Goro’s back as Akira mouths down Goro’s neck. He skips the collar and grazes his teeth just beneath it, “—mine—made for me—”

The pool of gathering heat in Goro’s gut surges, bleeding into Goro’s limbs until he can only shudder in Akira’s grip, mouth falling open.

“Mine—” Akira murmurs again, slurring the single syllable into a tonal hum against Goro’s flushed skin, “—mine, mine—”

And arm snakes around Goro’s waist and he grabs for it. “Ah—Akira—?”

Akira huffs warmly into Goro’s shoulder, grinding his cock against the swell of Goro’s ass.

“Akira, stay with me for a minute—”

“Hurts—” Akira groans.

“I know, but—this will be easier if you undress—”

It takes some maneuvering, but Goro manages to sit up, wincing when he puts pressure on his ass, and pull Akira up with him. Akira’s eyes are glazing over again, breaths coming short and quick, and his hands seek Goro’s skin like magnets to metal, but Goro endeavors and succeeds in yanking Akira’s shirt over his head.

“Come on—” he murmurs, rising on unsteady legs. “I’m not getting fucked on the floor again.”

Akira traipses behind him as Goro stumbles to the bed and clumsily tries to help Goro push his jeans down. Finally, Akira is bare, giving Goro his first unimpeded look at Akira’s cock. It’s still hard, standing at attention against his stomach, blushing and shining with slick. The sight makes Goro’s mouth water.

Sinking backward onto the mattress, Goro lets Akira climb over him, spreading his legs with shameful eagerness. Akira’s gaze is vacant and hungry again, raking down Goro’s figure with single-minded intensity, and he settles himself between Goro’s thighs, already rutting his cock into the vee of Goro’s hips. Each stroking motion slides along Goro’s own refilling erection and Goro tightens his legs around Akira’s waist as he pinches Akira’s cheek.

“You think you can stay with me this time?” he asks breathlessly.

Akira squeezes his eyes shut and whines, burying his face in Goro’s neck.

“Guess not.”

“Sorry—” Akira pants, bearing Goro into the mattress. “I just—I can’t think—” He inhales deeply, one hand sliding into Goro’s hair to pull his head aside while the other wraps around Goro’s thigh. “I—I need—”

Goro tilts his hips up, winding his arms around Akira’s shoulders. “I know—it’s okay—”

“I don’t want to hurt you—” an edge of fear creeps into Akira’s heated words. “I—don’t like losing myself like this—”

A pang of sympathy cuts through the scorching desire in Goro’s chest. Akira is a person who prides himself on his control, in and out of the metaverse. While fighting and traversing Mementos, he’s a paragon of competent leadership and disciplined acrobatics. In the real world, he’s under constant scrutiny by those above him, watching his every step and keeping himself in line. His firm grasp on himself is one of things that stood out to Goro upon their first meeting. Having that sense of control stolen from him so violently through a simple misstep—it must be torture.

Unconsciously, Goro runs his hand down Akira’s bowed back. “It’s okay.” He blinks up at the ceiling beams, Akira’s curls tickling his cheek. Comfort isn’t something he’s rehearsed, but instinct drives him forward. “You won’t hurt me. You haven’t so far.”

Akira holds Goro tighter, a distressed whine vibrating his chest.

“The rut doesn’t change who you are,” Goro continues, repeating the sweeping motion of his hand up and down Akira’s spine. “Back in Mementos—you tried to protect me—”

“I remember—I hurt Yusuke—”

“He was okay. You could have done much worse.”

“Thats—”

“And—” Goro swallows, “—you let me dismiss Arsene. And you never tried to control me.” It’s odd, trying to reassure someone who has, up till now, never displayed an ounce of self-doubt, and the kind words don’t sit properly in Goro’s mouth. Akira’s surety is something Goro always envied in the other boy, and seeing him so timid feels...wrong, and more intimate than the actual sex. Distantly, Goro thinks he should be pleased. His enemy is laid low, suffering and conflicted, but Goro can’t find any pleasure in this. Maybe it’s his heat, begging him to satisfy the alpha holding him down, whatever form that takes.

Regardless, he committed to this, and there’s no backing out now.

“You’re not a violent person, Akira. I’m not scared of you.”

Against him, Akira quivers.

“Come on, Akira—” Goro nearly begs, the fever peaking inside him with an uncomfortable prickle up his spine. His heat doesn’t understand why the alpha pressed to his front isn’t fucking him, and some tiny, animal part of his brain is starting to panic, perceiving that there must be something wrong with him, to make an alpha reject him like this. “It’s not just you—I promise it’ll be okay, so please—please—”

Seemingly in response to his distress, Akira’s pheromones intensify, washing over Goro and sedating the frantic omega in his head with a dose of pure desire. “Akechi—” he growls, struggling to push himself up on his elbows and catch Goro with his gleaming eyes, “—you’re—you’re giving me permission—”

“For fuck’s sake—yes!” Goro seizes two handfuls of Akira’s hair, frustration flooding in to replace the anxiety. “How many other ways do I have to say it! I give you consent to do whatever depraved thing you want to do to me, Akira Kurusu! _Please_ , alpha, fuck me stupid and stuff me full of cum and knot me until I—” his words die on a muffled moan as Akira commands his mouth, plunging his tongue past Goro’s teeth until he’s all that Goro can taste.

Rough hands hook under Goro’s knees, splaying him open for the insistent grinding of Akira’s length against his hole, and Goro clutches Akira closer, teeth clicking together. A fresh rush of slick coats the hot shaft on every pass, drawing a pitchy whine out of Goro.

Akira lets one of Goro’s legs down and then Goro’s breath hitches at the blunt poke of a cockhead at his entrance. His heart throbs in his ears as Akira sinks inside, fitting snugly into the gaping emptiness chewing at his core. Bone-deep relief washes through him like an analgesic and his head tips back, hands slipping from Akira’s hair to fall numbly to the mattress. When Akira’s hips press flush to his ass, Goro’s eyes flutter shut and a pathetic keen escapes his mouth.

Akira lays a lingering kiss on Goro’s temple, pulling out about halfway, the way eased by slick and the remains of his last orgasm. Goro’s toes curl.

“I’m—this—this doesn’t—” Goro starts, swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth, continues, because some part of his addled mind finds it vital, “—this doesn’t have anything—to do with my pills—so I can’t...get pregnant from this—”

Inside him, Akira twitches and Goro hears the clack of his teeth snapping shut as he clenches his jaw. Blinking open misty eyes, Goro looks up at him.

“What?”

Akira blows out a hard breath, shaking his head sharply and leaning back to take Goro around the waist.

Goro twists the corner of his lips up in a mean smile. “Does—thinking about getting me pregnant do it for you, Akira?”

Again, Akira’s cock throbs, and Akira bites off a groan, rocking forward to sheath himself to the hilt.

Shuddering, Goro arches against the mattress. “You—you like that, huh?” he pants. “I guess it’s—just instinct, but still—” he chuckles hoarsely, fisting his hands in the duvet, “—I _am_ blackmailing you, remember?”

“You don’t have to remind me,” Akira grinds out, drawing out and snapping forward hard enough to jolt Goro up the bed.

“ _Ah_ —and you still—want to breed me, hm?”

At the words, Akira’s eyes drift out of focus and that familiar, low rumble ignites in his chest. He grinds deep, nudging against something that sends goosebumps up Goro’s spine and flashes heat down his limbs.

“I’m—I’m not your mate—” Goro squirms as Akira pulls out again. “You don’t even like me—”

“I like you—” Akira sounds almost childish, at odds with the way he thrusts forward smoothly. “I like you, Akechi.”

_You shouldn’t_. Goro presses his lips together, focusing on the satisfying burn of Akira’s cock pumping in and out of his ass as Akira finally finds his rhythm.

“I—I really—” Akira’s grip on his waist flexes, chest heaving, “—do like you, I really—”

“Okay, I get it—”

“Akechi, I—” Akira hits home with a sharp motion, and Goro inhales shallowly, feeling himself ripple greedily around the perfect fullness sating the burn inside him. “—I _do_ like you, you’re—kind of stuffy, and you can be rude, but—” Sliding his hands out of their deathgrip on Goro’s waist, Akira runs them up Goro’s sides. “You’re always pushing me—and testing me—”

He flicks his thumbs over Goro’s stiff nipples, and Goro jerks with the new, bright pleasure zipping through him. “Well—” he gasps, “—if I don’t, who will?”

“No one—” Akira rolls his hips, the sinuous, deliberate motion rocking through Goro’s body like a wave, “—not like you—and I…” He looks up at Goro, eyes glittering through the unruly ends of his dark bangs, “I don’t want anyone else—”

“Akira—” Goro throws an arm over his face to block his vision, gritting his teeth, “—I don’t need this—this soft touch, really—”

“Can’t help it,” Akira huffs, circling his thumbs around Goro’s nipples. “You’ve got my alpha thinking about seeing you full of my pups and now it’s in love with you.” He ducks down and seals his mouth around one of the pert nubs.

A warmth separate from the electric heat drawn out by Akira’s tongue drips into Goro’s gut, his animal brain purring at Akira’s words. It’s his own fault for bringing up babies while Akira is in what’s essentially a breeding haze, but he can’t deny the way his body tenses as the idea of bearing Akira’s pups really lands.

The concentrated flicking of Akira’s tongue pauses and he lifts up, grinding his hips. “Oh? I see you like that too.”

“No, I—”

A firm hand seizes his wrist, removing his arm from over his eyes and forcing Goro to meet Akira’s glowing slate stare.

“You wanna have my baby, Detective Prince-san?” Akira asks, canines flashing in his smile, pinning Goro’s wrist to the mattress and roving his other hand down Goro’s abdomen until he can brush his fingers against Goro’s aching erection.

Goro swallows a moan, bucking into the touch, which shifts Akira inside him and shoots pleasure through him like a bullet.

Instead of wrapping his hand around Goro’s cock, Akira splays his fingers on the flat of Goro’s stomach, and Goro wonders wildly if he can feel himself moving inside. “Are you thinking about how you’d look all swollen with my pups?”

“No—!”

“You are—” Akira pulls out and thrusts back in mercilessly, the loud, wet sound ringing in Goro’s ears. “You’re getting wetter just talking about it—but you said your medicine is still working—” bowing over Goro, Akira brushes their noses together, his fringe tickling Goro’s forehead, and Goro can’t tear his eyes away from the tractor beam of Akira’s gaze. “Maybe I should keep you here until they _stop_ working.”

Goro clenches involuntarily, sucking in a tattered breath. It’s just dirty talk, Akira doesn’t mean anything by it—but the thought still sets his veins alight, pulsing heat all the way into the tips of his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s it—” Akira groans, fucking into him with short, sharp motions that rub relentlessly at his sweet spot, “—you want me to to breed you—”

“No, I— _hah_ —”

“Sweet little omega—desperate to get fucked and filled and bred by a big strong alpha—”

“If—if that’s what I want, I’ll have to look elsewhere,” Goro fires back breathlessly, unable to help himself.

Akira responds by surging over Goro, snatching Goro’s other wrist and trapping it like the first as he slams his hips forward, punching a strangled mewl out of Goro’s throat. The angle lifts Goro’s lower body off the mattress and he locks his ankles behind Akira’s back even as he throws his head back.

“You really are physically incapable of shutting up,” Akira growls, grinding the bones of Goro’s wrists in his grip. “Praising me in one breath and goading me in the next—am I that fun to fuck with?”

Goro can only whimper, pleasure spiking painfully from the impossible burn of Akira stretching him open.

“This is what you wanted—” Akira starts thrusting with abandon, pistoning in and out of Goro’s body, and Goro thought he was accustomed to the ceaseless current of pleasure, but something about Akira’s ferocity makes his brain flicker like a faulty radio signal, threatening to pitch him completely into roaring, scorching darkness. “Bending over the pool table—inviting me to the bath—acting all coy—” Akira leans down to mouth along Goro’s hanging jaw. “—feeling confident because no one knows you’re an omega, hm? Thought I wouldn’t have the balls to put you in your place?”

“ _Ah—_ Akira—!”

“Your smug little ass was asking for it.” He cants his hips up and thrusts all the way to the hilt in one powerful motion.

Goro thinks he screams, but the roaring in his ears makes it hard to tell.

Teeth cut into the skin under his ear, a hot tongue traces right above the line of the collar, and Akira repeats the deliberate motion, leaving Goro trembling. “And now—I’ve got you—” Akira rumbles, all chest, voice mixing with the constant purr vibrating through them both. “You don’t have to pretend anymore—I’m gonna keep you right where you belong, _honey_ —” He grinds, all the way inside, nudging that impossibly deep spot again, and Goro’s vision erupts in little starbursts that spread rapidly when the now-familiar pressure taps at his rim, “—on my knot.”

Goro convulses in Akira’s grip, spine arching off the mattress as the signal in the brain cuts out completely, catapulting him into burning, clawing static. Faintly, he can feel himself pulsing around Akira’s cock and the dull slice of teeth into his shoulder shines like a pinprick of light through the darkening crash of pleasure. Past the onslaught, the undeniable pressure of Akira’s knot popping inside him again makes his eyes roll back, erasing everything that isn’t Akira filling him up.

* * *

This time, he blinks awake to the gentle scratching of fingernails over his scalp.

Taking a deep breath, he catalogues the weight of Akira against his chest, the brush of Akira’s curls against his cheek, the press of Akira’s body situated between his legs, and—he shifts slightly and winces—the stretch of Akira’s cock still nestled deep in his body.

“Mmph,” Akira offers intelligently into Goro’s neck, still carding his fingers through Goro’s hair.

Nerves tingling, Goro raises a hand and feels around until he can pinch the skin just under Akira’s shoulder blade. “So you can stay coherent when you’re spewing filth,” he rasps, the words fuzzing at the edges as his mouth struggles to reconnect with his floating brain.

Akira squirms slightly, his back muscles twitching. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t lie.” Goro peers bemusedly up at the dusty ceiling beams, letting his hand rest on Akira’s spine. “You’ve been waiting to put me in my place since we met.”

The delicate touch in his hair falters, and, with a tired grunt, Akira hoists himself up on his elbows, looming into Goro’s line of sight. “There’s no _place_ , Akechi,” he whispers solemnly, lips nearly skimming Goro’s. This close, the light of the lamp can’t filter between them, casting Akira’s face in shadow, except for his eyes. Bottomless sterling searchlights glitter through the indistinct gloom, trapping Goro more effectively than the cage of Akira’s body. “There’s no hierarchy. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Goro swallows, heart fluttering restlessly behind his ribs. “I know that. Obviously.”

“You being an omega doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course it doesn’t. This isn’t the Edo period.”

“I’m not the kind of alpha who really believes that stuff.”

“Akira,” Goro sighs, “do we really have to get into dynamic politics with your knot in my ass?”

At the reminder, Akira blinks and his eyes dart downward.

“Anyone with a brain can tell you’re not one of those alphas,” Goro goes on. “Trust me. I spend a lot of time around those alphas.” One in particular, but they’re definitely a staple in both the police and the entertainment industry. “You don’t even come close.”

Akira’s brows pinch together in something that might be concern, but Goro continues:

“An alpha that lets an omega dismiss his persona while in the throes of a rut probably isn’t a sexist traditionalist.”

A thoughtful look crosses Akira’s face. “Right.” The hand in Goro’s hair resumes its stroking. “I think I remember that. It’s all scrambled but—I think we’re lucky it was Arsene that showed up. He likes you.”

Goro almost snorts. “I’m flattered.”

“He does!”

“I didn’t disagree with you!” Goro frowns up at Akira. “Though I’m not sure how you’d know something like that.”

“I can feel it when I summon him. He likes all of my friends, but since you joined us—” Akira shrugs, his shoulders bunching up around his ears. “He’s just happy when you’re around.”

Goro has to look away, letting his head fall to the side and breaking Akira’s gaze, cheeks warm. Akira nonchalantly admitting that the manifestation of his will likes having Goro around shouldn’t be affecting him like this, but he can’t help the way his heart thumps. It’s just hormones, he tells himself. Akira’s content alpha pheromones are still twined around them both, so Goro can’t be blamed for his moonstruck reaction.

Against his will, he wonders what Robin Hood thinks of Akira. He doesn’t allow himself to truly align with the persona when using it, because listening to that voice also means granting Loki access to his head, and he can’t afford to risk a mix-up. Perhaps foolishly, he thinks Robin Hood would approve of Akira.

But he’s not about to tell Akira that.

“How benevolent,” he says instead. “Though I’m not sure I want to be favored by a famous thief.”

Akira hums, settling back on top of Goro and tucking his face into the crook of Goro’s neck. “What is a thief without a detective to chase him?”

“By that logic, what is a detective without a thief to chase?” Goro responds quietly, Akira’s body heat ushering in a wave of lethargy fuelled by the last wisps of his orgasm. His fevered instincts don’t know that he’s technically in enemy territory; all they know is that the alpha on top of him is emitting happy pheromones and that translates in his hormone-riddled body as an abstract feeling of pride and safety. “Nothing,” he answers his own question, eyelids drooping.

Soft breath breezes across his throat before Akira’s lips press tenderly to his pulse point and another tide of soothing cedar and vanilla rolls over him. “Try to sleep,” Akira murmurs. “You’ll need the energy.”

Goro can barely sigh in response, limbs heavy and head drifting. Some part of his brain thinks it’s obscene that he’s even capable of sleeping while still speared open on Akira’s cock, but if anything, the satisfying fullness only pulls him deeper.

Akira brushes another kiss along the bottom of his jaw, his hand smoothing Goro’s bangs out of his face, and, against his better judgement, Goro lets go.

* * *

He surfaces an unknown amount of time later with his heat prickling insistently under his skin again and the soft sound of voices filtering through the attic.

“—eased off, but you shouldn’t get closer.” Akira’s low tones drip instantly down his spine like hand-brewed coffee.

“I’ll leave the bags here, then,” comes a quiet answering voice that Goro recognizes right away as Ann. She’s farther away than Akira and Goro can only assume she’s speaking from the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t know how you are on linens, so I brought some sheets and towels as well.”

“Thanks.”

“Futaba convinced Boss to stay away, but if this goes on for more than a few days—”

“I don’t think it will.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s just a feeling. It’s weird, but I think my body thinks Akechi is my mate. I can sort of...sense where he is in his cycle.”

“But he’s _not_ really your mate.”

“You’re right. Maybe I’m imagining things. But all we can do is wait and see.”

“Yeah.” Ann sounds displeased. “How is he?”

“Resting right now. And before that he was the same as usual.”

“Stubborn?”

“Extremely.”

Ann sighs. “Well, I’m relieved that you both seem yourselves. You were really out of it earlier.”

“The rut comes and goes. Sometimes I can barely think through it, and then it’ll die down for a while.”

“I wonder if that’s normal.”

“It doesn’t feel bad, just...intense.”

“I can imagine.” Ann makes a strained noise. “I should go. You really reek, Akira.”

“Sorry about that.” The floor squeaks. “Tell the others we’re okay and handling it.”

“Okay. I’ve got a key, so don’t worry about the door. Call me if something happens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps tap on the tile downstairs and Goro listens absently, allowing his awareness to seep back into his body with some disappointment. The comfortable weight of content sleep was a welcome reprieve from the fever making itself known in his gut again.

When Akira’s warm presence drifts back into his radius, Goro drags his eyes open and forces himself to sit up, pushing himself upright with both arms. Akira perches beside him immediately, wrapping an arm around his back in support.

“Don’t push yourself.”

Goro flashes him a look that he hopes conveys how unnecessary Akira’s coddling is, but if Akira picks up on it, he ignores it.

“Here,” Akira says once Goro is sitting up properly, twisting the cap off of some sort of energy drink. “You need electrolytes and sugar and stuff.”

He’s not wrong. Goro feels like a wet towel that’s been squeezed violently, so he accepts the bottle with a hand that only shakes a little and sips obediently, taking stock of himself.

The faint grey light sifting through the windows indicates early morning, and sometime between falling asleep and now, Akira must have cleaned them up, because he’s not nearly gross enough for what they just did. The insides of his thighs in particular should be much stickier, and though he can already feel the wet slide of slick when he draws his knees up, at least he’s not coated in drying slick and cum.

“Ann was just here,” Akira says, popping open his own bottle. He’s replaced his boxers, probably for Ann’s sake, but his skin is still flushed, and Goro can feel heat radiating in the inches between their shoulders. “She dropped some stuff off. Snacks and fever reducers, she said.”

Goro nods. “Reducers don’t usually do much for me, because my heat is so mild to begin with, but this is worse than usual, so I’ll gladly give them a try.”

Akira is on his feet right away, across the room and digging in one of the shopping bags Goro assumes he got from Ann. He returns to Goro, popping open a blister pack of two small pills, which Goro swallows.

Washing them down with a swig from the energy drink, Goro scans Akira critically. “How do you feel?”

Akira sits down again, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Lucid, but it sort of feels like I could lose it at any moment."

"Tenuous."

"Yeah."

"That's how heats usually feel. Waves of discomfort."

"I don't know how you guys manage it."

Goro shrugs one shoulder. "I never had to put up with anything too bad. Missing a day of school or work every four months was easy to hide." The mention of school drags his mouth into a frown. They went into Mementos on Saturday evening, so it’s Sunday now, but if this goes on longer than a day— "I'm going to need to think of an excuse for this, though."

"Don't worry." Akira's eyes twinkle. "I know someone who can write any doctor's note you need."

Goro lifts an eyebrow. "Oh? One of your many underground connections?"

"She's a real doctor, even if she is a bit sketchy."

“Good, then she won’t mind helping me lie about why I’m absent.”

“Right.” Akira furrows his brows thoughtfully. “I guess I’ll have to think of an excuse too.”

Goro takes another long swallow of the drink. The cool liquid is soothing on his raw throat, but the sweet, earthy pheromones coating his tongue drown out the flavor. “Well, a couple of days' absence won’t be too suspicious. You’re a model student otherwise, right?”

“More or less.” Casting him a discerning look, Akira raises a hand and hesitantly brushes the backs of his fingers over Goro’s shoulder. “How do _you_ feel?”

Goro follows the motion and spies the distinctive reddened oval of a bite mark. Other smaller discolored spots pepper the skin around it, and given how liberal Akira was with his mouth earlier, Goro is willing to bet his neck and back are similarly marred. The sight simmers low in his gut. “Wrung out and chewed on.”

“Sorry,” Akira offers. “I’ll...try to restrain myself.”

“Don’t bother.” Goro screws the cap back on his bottle and sets it aside on Akira’s window sill. “I’m already going to have to wear concealer after this. The amount doesn’t really matter.” Turning back, he plants a hand on Akira’s chest and shoves. “I’ll just have to pay you back double.”

Akira falls back easily and blinks up at Goro as he climbs over him, dazed. “Okay.”

Goro makes quick work of Akira’s boxers and wastes no time fitting his fingers around Akira’s hardening length. “You can knot my mouth this time.”

“Okay. Wait—” Akira stills Goro’s hand with his own. “You sure you’re ready to go again? You were really worn out earlier.”

The fever sizzling under Goro’s skin is absolutely ready to go again, overriding his exhaustion with a demanding desire that won’t be refused. And another quick scan of Akira’s prone form reveals his rabbit breathing and blown pupils. “We don’t have much of a choice at this point.”

“Akechi—”

“I’m fine, Akira.” Goro pastes on a smile, swiping his thumb over Akira’s slit and enjoying the way the alpha tenses underneath him. “And I’ll be even better with your cock in my throat.”

Akira groans and fists a hand in Goro’s hair, dragging him down into a messy, biting kiss.

* * *

Much like a heat, Akira’s rut peaks and ebbs.

Sometimes, he sinks back into that purely instinctive haze, seemingly against his will, and Goro has to manage a clingy, purring alpha on top of his own roaring hormones. Other times he’s almost completely sober, sniping all of Goro’s comments right back at him and mother-henning on a level Goro has never seen before. Most of the time, however, he seems to hover in between, able to hold a conversation but easily goaded into succumbing to his more primal urges.

Even when he’s in full alpha-mode, growling and baring his teeth, he folds easily to Goro’s handling. All it takes is a firm hand on his shoulder and Akira will roll over readily, staring up at Goro with sparkles in his eyes as Goro seats himself on his cock and rides him until they’re both screaming. As...sweet as it is that Akira’s most basic instincts still bend to Goro’s control, that kind of passivity isn’t really what Goro’s heat is so desperate for.

It takes a significant amount of brattiness and baiting to get Akira to actually let loose, but finally having all of that animal ferocity that Goro sees glimpses of in the metaverse focused on him...it’s exhilarating. Like when Goro forces Akira to chase him downstairs, Akira catches him on the way back up the staircase, eyes bright and empty, and rails Goro right against the steps, snapping his hips violently and leaving Goro with several red bands across his chest and legs from the edges of the steps. Akira pouts remorsefully at them an hour later when he brings Goro a cup of coffee, but Goro enjoys the way they ache when he moves.

Goro’s heat also rises and falls in intensity, and when they line up, time passes in a haze of fevered pleasure and rough hands, coming to Goro in blinks of awareness. He’ll surface from the haze face-first against a wall with Akira’s fingers in his mouth and Akira’s cock balls deep inside of him, before losing track again, then suddenly he’s braced over Akira on the bed, drooling around his shaft while Akira shoves his tongue in his ass. The peaks are disorienting, to say the least, and most of Sunday passes like that.

“Do mated pairs really do this every four months?” Akira asks, a note of despair in his voice. They’re lying naked on the floor, feet stretching in opposite directions with their heads close enough to make out each other’s rasping words, trying to take advantage of a rare moment where they’re both too tired to continue. Low evening light filters through the window, draping the attic in gold.

“Generally, no,” Goro groans. His muscles feel like they’re made of sand. “An omega’s heat doesn’t actually make them _more_ fertile until they’re mated, then they’ll start having breeding heats, and the pheromones from those have a _chance_ of triggering a rut in their partner, but it’s not a sure thing. And suppressants can inhibit breeding heats anyway.” Goro rolls his head to the side, eyeing Akira’s exhausted profile. “Didn’t you learn this stuff in school?”

“Some of it, but my last school split sex education up by dynamic. Alphas were just taught that ruts only happen when you’re mated. I assume the details were included in the other curriculum. And Shujin doesn’t teach human biology until next semester.”

“I’m sure all of this hands-on education will benefit your grades, then.”

Akira chuckles weakly. “Hands-on is a pretty good term for it.”

Goro hums, recalling the hot splay of Akira’s fingers on his thighs, around his dick, teasing his nipples— “You’ve collected a lot of experiences that your peers will never share,” he observes absently, eyes drifting shut. “Being arrested, probation, discovering another dimension, becoming an internationally famous criminal, going through a rut in your teens….”

“You weren’t exactly a normal student before this either,” Akira returns.

Anxiety calcifies in Goro’s gut and his eyes fly open before Akira continues:

“Not many people can become a detective and a celebrity in their teens.”

“Well.” Goro gives himself a mental shake. He can’t afford to be so jumpy. “Be that as it may, you seem to have no shortage of celebrities around you.”

“Hm?”

“An up-and-coming model, the star pupil of the man who used to be Japan’s most eminent artist, the late President Okumura’s only daughter….” Goro counts down Akira’s eclectic friend group. “Not to mention all of the other people you talk about. Your infamous politician friend, Togo-san...me, I suppose. You certainly attract unique personalities.”

Akira shrugs, the floorboards beneath him creaking with the motion. “It’s a gift.”

“It’s suspicious. Your social circle was the reason I started looking into you, if you recall.”

“Sorry for having friends.”

“Some crimes can never be forgiven.”

Akira snorts and the floor creaks again as he drags himself onto his side, facing Goro. His drowsy eyes trace over Goro’s face and Goro returns the watchfulness silently. One of Akira’s hands inches across the short distance between them and brushes over the ends of Goro’s loose hair, tousled around his head on the hardwood. “Is it hard hiding your dynamic?” he asks softly.

Goro draws in a thin breath. “Not really. It’s just a daily pill. And my hormones aren’t so unforgiving that a minor slip-up will blow my cover. I’m lucky that it’s easy for me. Some omegas don’t even have the option.”

“Does it get lonely?”

“Why would it be lonely?”

“Because you can’t be your true self with anyone.”

_I already can’t do that_. “My dynamic is not at all integral to my identity,” Goro dismisses. “I’d have my glands removed completely if I found a doctor I could trust.”

Akira’s mouth twitches down at the corners. “Really?”

“Of course. My dynamic has always been more hassle than it’s worth.” A young male omega in the foster system is an incredibly vulnerable target, after all. Goro searches Akira’s face but he’s not sure what he’s looking for. “Isn’t it the same for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t they use it against you, when you were arrested? A young alpha, inherently violent—unable to control his temper….”

Something dark passes behind Akira’s eyes. “That...came up.”

Goro can easily imagine how the whole scenario played out, framing Akira as some out-of-control hormonal maniac. “And I see how you fold into yourself and hide your face to seem less intimidating.”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” Akira says sourly.

“Some people find comfort in their biological imperative,” Goro continues. “Or they find a sense of community within their dynamic, but our dynamics have never offered either of us anything but trouble.”

“We’re still young,” Akira objects.

Goro raises an eyebrow. “You really think things will get better on that front?”

“I do.” Akira holds his stare, upside down, unwavering. “We’re working toward a brighter future.”

Goro sighs, deciding not to bring up the fact that, as far as Akira knows, the Phantom Thieves will be disbanded in less than a month, since that’s not wholly accurate anyway. “Judging people based on their gender and dynamic is deeply ingrained in every aspect of our culture. And not just ours—every nation in the world struggles with basic human rights. Can one group of teenage vigilantes affect any real change?”

“We have to try.”

Pressing his lips together, Goro rolls his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Perhaps.”

“Isn’t that something you want?” Akira asks. “You say you believe in justice—isn’t justice equality?”

“It isn’t the ends I object to, it’s the means.”

Akira is silent for a beat, and Goro can feel the cold weight of his eyes on the side of his face. “Right.” He worries a lock of Goro’s hair between his fingers. “In the end, our justices really are different.”

“Is your justice so entrenched in your vigilante activities that you consider anything that doesn’t utilize the same methods invalid?”

“No, but I get the feeling that our ideas of justice come from different places.”

Goro gazes dispassionately up at the dust sifting through the sunbeams above him. “I thought I made that clear last month.”

“I haven’t had time to really dissect our ideologies until now.”

“Of course you and your friends’ childish definition of justice differs from mine. That’s why I’m forcing you to disband. Or did you forget?”

“I heard once that justice is love in public,” Akira says, ignoring Goro’s question. “Shouldn’t justice come from a desire to keep people safe?”

Goro cuts his eyes to the side again, catching the late evening light trapped in Akira’s pale stare. “You’re telling me that everything you’ve done has been purely selfless? That you _love_ all of the nameless, random people you’ve helped?”

Akira’s lips press into a thin line. “Maybe not personally, but can’t love exist generally like that?”

“Not in my experience.” Goro narrows his eyes. “Are you bringing this up now because you think I’ll be more amenable to your viewpoint with your cum in my ass?”

The ghost of a smile curves Akira’s mouth. “You’re the one who’s always so eager to talk about philosophy. I thought you’d appreciate the pillowtalk.”

“I think pillowtalk requires pillows.”

Akira hums, seemingly accepting Goro’s discardment of the subject, and the floor squeaks illustratively as he hauls himself up on one elbow. His shadow falls across Goro’s face as Akira hovers over him, blocking the evening sunlight. “You know everything,” Akira murmurs.

The low heat in his voice drips right into the steady tide resurging through Goro’s body and he draws his legs in against the interested twitch of his cock. “You’d do well to keep that in mind.”

With a noncommittal noise, Akira ducks down to brush their mouths together, parting his lips softly. Goro opens for the upside down kiss, letting his eyes flutter shut as Akira slides their tongues together languidly. Beyond the overwhelming taste of vanilla and cedar, Goro detects a hint of something bitter, but before he can wonder about it, Akira is pulling him up and plunging three fingers past his entrance, replacing Goro’s thoughts with a needy, buzzing warmth.

* * *

When Akira is completely out of it, he’s not much good for anything.

His eyes glaze over and his temperature skyrockets and he starts panting like a dog, whining and clinging when Goro tries to leave his side, so it falls on Goro to fight back his own fever and manage them both. Despite his inexperience caring for people, he manages to keep them both clean and fed and hydrated, and he even digs out Leblanc’s first aid kit to treat a few long furrows he left on Akira’s back in one of his less coherent moments. Akira doesn’t even seem to mind the sting of the antiseptic, purring away with his head in Goro’s lap.

Then he swallows Goro’s cock to the hilt and Goro has to quickly set the kit aside to avoid spilling its contents.

Now that they’re not in the depths of Mementos and he’s had nearly a solid day of sex to temper his heat, Goro, quite against his will, actually starts to find Akira’s puppy-like affection cute. It’s unwanted and unnecessary, but there’s just something about the way Akira glows up at him that makes his heart thump a little harder.

It’s when he’s at his most animal that Akira seems frustrated by the collar around Goro’s neck. Even when they’re not fucking, he nuzzles at the snug leather and chirps sadly. Goro can only pat his head and try to guide his attention elsewhere. Since ruts only occur in mated alphas, Akira’s hindbrain must be confused that he can’t scent the omega he perceives as his mate directly. Fortunately, the buckle is too complex for Akira’s addled brain to puzzle out, so Goro’s nape is safe.

On Monday morning, Akira is in the throes of one of these fits of instinct, but the physical discomfort is apparently _just_ too much for sex to be appealing, so he’s curled around Goro from behind in the bed, whining into the skin between Goro’s shoulder blades while Goro thinks idly about how he should change the sheets. Before he can make a plan for extricating himself, Akira’s phone vibrates noisily on the windowsill.

Goro gropes for it right away. They’ve had calls from the others, mostly quick check-ins from Ann and once from a stressed-sounding Ryuji, along with the near constant chatter from the groupchat, which Goro keeps a wary eye on, but the name on the screen isn’t from anyone on the team.

_Sojiro_.

The man who owns Leblanc and Akira’s guardian. Casting a panicked look back at Akira, Goro swears internally. He told Futaba to tell Sojiro that they were isolating because of _his_ heat—what will he think if Goro answers the phone? But if no one answers, he might get anxious and come to check on them. Akira is barely conscious and there’s no way he can take the call, so Goro has no choice but to steel himself and press the accept button.

“Hello?” The rasp of his voice isn’t much of an act, but Goro plays it up deliberately. “Sakura-san?”

“Ah—” There’s some rustling on the other end of the line. “Sorry, I—I was trying to reach Akira.”

“He’s asleep,” Goro whispers. “He—uh, he had a hard day yesterday. I could wake him if you—?”

“No, no—” Sojiro says quickly. “It’s fine, just...let him rest.” The man lets out a long sigh. “So you’re…?”

“The omega,” Goro finishes bluntly.

“Right. No—I mean—” Another sigh, sharper this time. “Sorry if I seem insensitive, kid, this is just….”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault for keeping you out of your shop and making your ward miss school.”

“Nah, don’t worry about that.” Sojiro clears his throat. “It was surprising, but I...I get it. Sometimes these things happen.”

He sounds like he means it, and Goro’s stomach does a funny little squirm.

“Anyway, uh—” Sojiro goes on hesitantly. “How...how are you kids doing?”

Goro swallows. “We’re hanging in there. Akira has been...uncommonly sweet. He’s making this much better than I worried it would be.”

“Yeah, he’s a good kid.” A note of pride enters Sojiro’s voice. “Not like other young alphas, that’s for sure. None of that arrogance.” He chuckles. “And nothing like me when I was his age.”

“You’ve been teaching him well.”

“Oh, that’s—” Sojiro cuts off and Goro can almost hear his pleased smile. “Nothing to do with me. But—thanks. How—how are you feeling?”

Goro’s stomach flips a little more violently. “Me?”

“I might be an alpha, but I’ve been around enough omegas to know that it’s not easy when your pills fail. Are you doing okay?”

“I—” Goro stares hard at the sheets beside him. “Yes, I’m okay. It’s not easy, but I’m managing.”

“I know you two are trying to handle it on your own, but if you think you need a doctor—”

“Oh, no, that’s really not necessary.” Goro forces out an airy laugh. “This has happened before, so I know what I’m doing. And Akira has been a great help.”

Sojiro huffs. “Well, you seem like a competent young man, the few times we’ve met—and you know yourself best. But don’t be embarrassed to ask for help.”

“I...I won’t.”

“Do you two need anything? I can leave it on the porch.”

“No, we’re okay. One of Akira’s friends dropped some supplies off.”

“Good,” Sojiro says gruffly. “Just...watch yourselves. And call if you need something, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright then, I’ll—oh, right,” Sojiro cuts off suddenly. “Your parents know about this, right?”

Goro clenches his free hand into a fist. “Ah—actually, I don’t have parents, sir. I live alone. But my job and school have been notified that I will be absent.”

A beat of silence shivers across the line.

“Oh.” Sojiro sounds unbalanced. He coughs once. “I see. Sorry, I—just—in that case, don’t forget I’m here if something happens. Get some rest.”

There’s a _click_ and the call disconnects.

Goro replaces the phone on the windowsill and stares blankly at the sun-dappled sheets in front of him. Around his waist, Akira’s arms tighten, and he shuffles closer with a whimper, a slab of searing skin pressed along Goro’s back.

“You’ve really fallen in with some good people,” Goro mutters.

Akira huffs, probably unsettled by the distressed edge tainting Goro’s scent.

“Justice is love in public,” Goro mocks, grabbing at Akira’s arm. “It’s easy to spew that drivel when you’ve got people like _that_ looking out for you.” With a smooth motion, he spins in Akira’s hold and pushes himself up, straddling Akira’s hips.

Akira blinks vapidly up at him, unresisting and pliant.

“Maybe you need that kind of sentimental nonsense to motivate you, but I’m different.” Goro slides his hands up Akira’s bare chest until he can rest them in a loose circle around Akira’s neck. “I know the _truth_.”

Anxious whining hitching into a low purr, Akira tips his head back, pressing into Goro’s touch.

“There are so many people who love you—” Goro squeezes lightly. “How poetic that _I_ will be the one to take you from them.”

Seeking hands venture over his thighs.

“I could kill you right now—” Goro mumbles, meeting Akira’s hazy eyes. “I could—and you’d beg me for it. You would—you—”

Akira’s fingers skim down the vee of Goro’s hips, and Goro’s abdominal muscles contract with a renewed wave of heat.

“ _Hn_ —” Goro grits his teeth, shifting his grip to cup Akira’s jaw instead. “But I’m not that merciful.”

Akira coos and Goro can feel the distinctive ridge of his cock hardening behind him.

“Pathetic,” he hisses, reaching back to palm Akira roughly. Slick is starting to trickle from his hole again and Goro guides Akira’s length between his cheeks, grinding up and down to coat it liberally. “ _Pathetic_.”

But as he seats himself on Akira’s cock and moans hungrily at the stretch while Akira arches mindlessly below him, he’s not sure which one of them he's talking about.

* * *

Before this debacle, Goro can't deny that he held a certain affinity for Akira, even beyond the regrettable physical attraction. He certainly took no pains to hide his interest and he reveled in Akira's seemingly reciprocal attention, but he always pegged their rapport as friendly rivalry.

Even if some part of him may have been greedy for more, Akira was always so casual and polite that Goro usually managed to ignore that little plaintive voice. And he certainly never expected their entanglement to stray into the romantic. Akira was a dead man walking and besides, Goro didn’t have time for that sort of thing.

So any _attachment_ Goro may be feeling for Akira now is purely hormonal.

Goro fights to keep that in mind when Akira murmurs praise in his ear while fucking him on the couch, or deftly massages his strained muscles during a lull, or gingerly dabs a cool towel over his flushed face when the fever ratchets up and leaves Goro a wordless, panting mess.

And surely whatever is compelling Akira to play at affection is just as fabricated and fleeting as the instincts screaming at Goro to roll over and bare his neck, and whatever evolutionary remnant makes him wonder if getting pregnant at eighteen is _really_ such a bad idea, and the delirious mental whispers that start calling Akira _my alpha_.

They’re both unwilling participants in this biological shitshow and Goro is _not_ going to let these ardent desires taint his perception, no matter how genuine they feel in the moment.

But that’s easier said than done when Monday evening arrives and Goro still can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.

No amount of filthy, debaucherous fucking satisfies the unrelenting heat for more than a few hours at most, and usually they have to go right from one round to the next with no relief. Goro nearly passes out face-down, drooling against the mattress as he’s knotted from behind, only to blink awake with his ankles by his head, bent in half with Akira thrusting erratically from above, and all he can do is cry for more. And Akira’s cock never goes completely soft, constantly waiting for a tight hole or mouth or hand to ease its painful rigidity, and with the sheer volume of cum decorating Goro’s insides and outsides, it’s a wonder his balls aren’t completely shriveled at this point.

Honestly, the ruthless, insatiable lust is starting to drive Goro insane, and he thinks Akira might be losing it as well.

Exhausted but unable to sleep for the heat boiling in his gut, Goro finds himself on his side with Akira spooned behind him, similarly worn out. The cock in his ass grinds lazily, just enough to take the edge off, but Goro can still barely think past the need clawing through him, breathing labored and eyes unfocused.

Akira is whispering against the back of his neck, the words more movement than voice, and purring, always purring. Goro can feel the low note echoing in Akira’s chest. A firm stroke of Akira’s hips drags just right against his prostate and Goro whimpers, the pleasure spiking painfully through his leaden muscles. His hands, lax on the sheets in front of him, twitch, fingers curling into his palms.

“Shhh,” Akira soothes drowsily, nuzzling into Goro’s hair. He angles his next thrust just enough to slide all the way inside, filling Goro to the brim, and holds there, letting Goro’s body throb tiredly around the satisfying length. “I’ve got you.”

Goro whines softly, eyelids fluttering. “—alpha….”

“I’m here.” The scorching hand on Goro’s side skates forward, drawing Akira’s arm fully around Goro’s waist, and then gentle fingers are nudging at Goro’s upturned fist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Helpless against the tide of cloying arousal, Goro loosens his hand, allowing Akira to fit their fingers together, and when Akira tightens his grip, he clings back.

“I’ve got you—” Akira doesn’t even seem aware of what he’s saying, words dropping from his lips in a soft, compulsive stream. “Akechi, I’m here—please, it’s okay—I’m here, you’re safe—please—”

A shiver wracks Goro’s frame and he bows forward, pressing his forehead to their overlapping thumbs. The angle puts his nose in the space between their wrists, and when he sucks in a reedy breath, an overwhelming dose of their mingled scents hits him like a shot of morphine. Cedar and roses tangle together in his head, dripping into his lungs while saccharine peaches coat his tongue, and his eyes roll back as he pulses around Akira’s cock.

Akira groans, and a light tug around Goro’s throat lets him know that Akira is biting the heat collar.

The knowledge is enough to tip Goro over the edge and he shakes as he climaxes. It’s dry, has been for the past few hours, but that doesn’t diminish the blinding pleasure. As soon as the crest passes, Goro feels himself go limp against the mattress, limbs boneless and vision graying at the corners.

The grip on his hand tightens and Akira grunts weakly, jolting erratically into Goro’s pliant body. Goro can only breathe shallowly until the familiar stretch of Akira’s knot ripples over his fever like a balm.

“So perfect for me—” Akira slurs, “—gonna keep you here—never let you go, never—”

With the taste of himself and Akira at the back of his throat and Akira’s seed filling him deep inside, Goro finally sinks into the warm, beckoning darkness.

* * *

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Goro pops off of Akira’s dick with a damp sucking noise and looks up at him from between his legs. “What?”

Akira shrugs like he’s not naked on the edge of the bed getting a blowjob. “I rented a few the other day, but I haven’t had a chance to watch them.”

Swallowing the bitter traces of precum in his mouth, Goro wraps his hand loosely around Akira’s shaft and props one arm on Akira’s thigh. “And you think now is a good time?” He leans his head on his fist. “We’re not exactly on holiday.”

“We’re not being held at gunpoint either.”

“Not literally, I suppose.”

“Come on. It’s the middle of the night. I’m tired, you’re tired, but neither of us can sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. Let’s watch a movie.”

Goro considers for a beat. It’s an unnecessary activity, to be sure, but Akira isn’t wrong. He’s tired, but the heat won’t let him sleep deeply, and the thought of another round makes him physically ill. “Fine,” he concedes. “Decide which film to put on while I finish up here.”

“Yes, s—” Akira cuts off on a strangled squeak as Goro deepthroats his dick again.

That done, Goro limps down to the bathroom while Akira, from the sound of it, drags the furniture around. The face that greets him in the mirror is horrible: flushed along the tops of his cheeks, pallid and drawn everywhere else with heavy bags under his eyes. His hair hangs around him in a dull, unkempt curtain. Without his usual regiment of products, some of the natural fluff is coming back and Goro frowns at its unruliness.

After only two days of nonstop heat, he looks like a consumptive corpse.

Tilting his head, Goro eyes the constellations of hickies and bite marks adorning his neck. They start right under his jaw and continue until finally petering out halfway down his chest. If he unbuckled the collar, he’d see a solid band of pale amidst the mottled reds and purples, and he knows that the insides of his thighs are similarly painted. It’s going to be a bitch trying to hide it all, but he’s the one who told Akira not to hold back, so he only has himself to blame.

Even more than his physical appearance, Goro _feels_ wrecked. He’s had heats that were more uncomfortable than others, but nothing has ever approached this level of incoherent longing. It seems impossible that he was literally a virgin on Saturday evening and now—

Goro presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars pop across his vision, his whole body prickling hotly with the memory of all the depraved things he’s done in the past 72 hours.

After freshening up as best he can and brushing his teeth (thank you, Ann), Goro makes his way back up to the attic.

Akira has dragged the table over in front of the sofa and is in the middle of fiddling with the cords for the ancient TV on top of it. He’s thrown on some sweatpants and when he sees Goro mounting the top of the stairs, he snags another pair waiting on the sofa and tosses them to him.

Wordlessly, Goro slides them on. Despite the chill of the poorly-insulated attic, neither of them have been cold, but it’s admittedly nice not to be totally nude after what feels like weeks.

“Does that thing really work?” Goro asks skeptically, seating himself on the couch and drawing his legs into his chest.

“Somehow.” Akira presses a button and the screen flickers on, displaying a no input message. “I got it for cheap at a resale shop.”

“Why don’t you get a newer one? You have the money.”

Akira shrugs, sliding a tape into the player and pressing another button to change the source. The screen switches haltingly to a scrolling shot of a landscape. “It’s got charm, don’t you think?”

Goro eyes the grainy picture and line of un-threading at the bottom of the frame. “That’s one way to put it.”

Chuckling, Akira flicks the desk lamp off, plunging the attic into a flickering gloom and throwing harsh electronic light across the sofa. He grabs a spare blanket and plops down beside Goro as the first strains of shamisen music warble out of the tinny speakers. Draping the blanket over his shoulders, he holds one end out to Goro. “Come here.”

Hesitantly, Goro inches closer and accepts the blanket around his own shoulders. Akira retracts his arm, so at least they’re not cuddling, but they are sharing a blanket outside of sex, trapped in a warm, glowing cocoon, and Goro’s brain feels like it’s buffering.

Akira passes him a bottle of water and gulps from his own while a few cinematic establishing shots pass by. Goro watches attentively, nursing the water.

“A samurai film?”

“It’s a classic, apparently,” Akira says. “Ryuji recommended it to me. I thought you might like it.”

Goro cuts him a look. “Why?”

“You like Featherman, right? Samurai are kind of the original superheroes.”

Cheeks warming, Goro turns back to the screen, where a man in a straw hat is walking through a provincial village. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Akira tips sideways to bump Goro with his shoulder. “Don’t bother pretending. I saw the soundtrack pulled up on your phone the other day.”

Goro curses internally.

“There’s no shame.” The playfulness in Akira’s voice is curbed by weariness but familiar all the same. “It’s cute.”

“ _Cute_ is not a moniker I strive for,” Goro responds, a little waspishly.

“Yeah, well, some things can’t be helped.”

Goro scowls.

“Don’t pout!”

“I am _not_ pouting.”

“Okay, okay.” Akira smiles. It makes him look younger. Or, maybe, it makes him look his age. Normally, Akira carries a gravitas beyond his years. It’s something they have in common. But now Akira’s face is relaxed, mouth turned up in a non-smirking smile that crinkles his eyes and rounds his cheeks. “Let’s just watch.”

Turning resolutely back to the screen, Goro does his best to ignore the restless fluttering of his heart.

The film is exactly what you’d expect from a formulaic samurai flick from the 80s: warring clans trap a small town between their feud and a traveling ronin has to rescue the innocent citizens. Despite the predictability and laughable special effects, Goro finds himself engaged, leaning forward slightly on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees.

“Not bad,” Akira comments idly following a monologue delivered by the lord’s daughter. “Ryuji was right.”

“It’s decent,” Goro allows.

On screen, the daughter draws a bow and arrow and annihilates a whole row of men.

“Reminds me of someone,” Akira says over the sound of gory death.

“Surely you don’t mean my persona.”

“He’s pretty handy with that bow.”

“Robin Hood’s attacks are much more elegant than—” Goro gestures at the bloody scene before them.

“Only because shadows don’t bleed.”

“That you know of.”

“True,” Akira concedes. “I haven’t exactly done any experiments.”

“Need I remind you, you’re the one who wanted to watch this,” Goro scolds.

“Right.” The light of the TV just catches the sly curve of Aira’s mouth. “I’ll be quiet.”

As the movie wears on, Akira spreads out more and more beside Goro, legs splayed, lounging back, freeing himself from the blanket to rest his arms along the top of the back cushion.

It isn’t until halfway through that Goro realizes he could lean back and technically have Akira’s arm around his shoulders.

After the vulgar, horribly intimate stuff they’ve been doing the past few days, that little thing shouldn’t feel as big as it does, but the thought sticks in Goro’s brain like a splinter, preventing him from absorbing the cheesy dialogue. Is Akira doing it on purpose? Has he somehow misinterpreted their relationship and now falsely believes that kind of casual intimacy is appropriate? Or is Goro overthinking it?

With a firm mental shake, Goro refocuses on the movie, where a band of hired goons is cornering the hero in a courtyard of some sort. But somehow, the solid line of Akira’s heat beside him is even more distracting now than when it’s accompanied by a knot in his ass.

He’s just managed to fall back in line with the story when a pressure against his hip nearly makes him jump. Glancing down, he realizes Akira has slid even closer, pressing his thigh against Goro, but he seems wholly invested in the TV, apparently oblivious to Goro’s internal meltdown.

Gritting his teeth in his mouth, Goro resolves to ignore Akira no matter what he does.

Twenty minutes later, with Akira dozing against his shoulder and the final battle flashing climatically on the screen, Goro pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why can’t I ever win against you?” he mutters bitterly.

Mournful music weaves out of the scrolling credits and Goro watches the names go by absently. Akira’s hair is soft against his skin, which doesn’t seem fair considering all of the sweat and other fluids they’ve been bathing in for hours straight at this point, and each breath assails Goro with Akira’s scent, reminding his heat that they’re still very much in the middle of hell.

With an analog click, the screen turns blue, an ambient drone replacing the music. Goro sighs and leans forward to turn it off, but Akira shifts against him, whining.

“Don’t give me that,” Goro sighs. “I have to turn your prehistoric TV off before it catches fire.”

Twisting in his seat, Akira catches Goro around the waist and nuzzles into Goro’s neck.

“You’re such a faker.”

“You woke me up,” Akira mumbles.

Mild guilt strums faintly in Goro’s gut. It’s not like either of them have been getting good sleep. “Sorry.”

Akira hums, tugging clumsily at Goro until Goro relents and straddles Akira’s lap. “It’s okay.” Tipping his head back against the cushion, Akira peers up at Goro with sleepy eyes. The blue light of the screen casts the highlights of his face in a ghostly glow. “It doesn’t feel right to sleep while you’re awake.”

Goro bristles. “Because you don’t trust me?”

Shaking his head mellowly, Akira swipes his thumbs over the twin juts of Goro’s hip bones. “Because I wanna take care of you.”

“Implying you don’t think I can take care of myself.” Not that either of them are really in the most competent state, but it’s the principle of the thing that’s raising Goro’s hackles.

But Akira doesn’t fire back, just holding Goro’s gaze with half-lidded, burning eyes. “No, it’s all me being selfish.”

Goro swallows. “The altruistic, valiant leader of the Phantom Thieves acting selfishly? I don’t believe it.”

“I try not to. Wanting things...hurts people.”

“You can’t help having desires.”

“I should. I’m usually...so good at it.” Akira’s touch creeps up Goro’s chest, both hands playing over the piano of his ribs, but even when his fingers brush close to Goro’s nipples, it doesn’t feel sexual. Instead, Goro can almost picture paint on Akira’s palms, the hot slide of skin on skin drawing thick, bright lines up his torso, over his shoulders, flowing into the curve of his neck, like a signature on his body. “But something about you makes me want in the worst way.”

Heat pulses through Goro and he sways forward, face caught between Akira’s hands. “That’s...that’s the rut talking, Akira,” he whispers, a sliver of panic worming into the rush of arousal. “You don’t mean that.”

Akira’s eyes dip closed and he hums something unintelligible, drawing Goro down to tap their foreheads together. The scant space between them fogs with their mingled breaths.

Goro’s restless hands latch onto Akira’s shoulders. “Akira, you don’t—” his words die in Akira’s mouth, and this kiss isn’t like any of the others they’ve shared. It’s not claiming or commanding or biting. Akira’s lips are soft and coaxing, compelling Goro to melt against him with a shiver. But it’s not soothing or comforting or gentle either.

It aches.

Pangs of _something_ constrict Goro’s lungs and he gasps into the kiss, digging his fingers into Akira’s skin. Akira just tilts his head and presses deeper with an urgency that has nothing to do with instincts or hormones.

For 72 hours, he’s been isolated with an alpha. The specific alpha was one he was admittedly attracted to, but the identity of the alpha was mostly inconsequential. To him and his omega instincts, Akira was first and foremost a wall of dominant pheromones with a knot. When they fucked, when they kissed, when they were tied together, it was as alpha and omega. He didn’t want to think past that. But now, even though his fever is still raging, it’s distant and muted, and Goro can’t ignore that the one kissing him is _Akira_. The person. The boy.

Akira’s hands are painfully tender around his jaw, firm enough to communicate his desire, but gentle enough that Goro could pull away if he wanted to, and his mouth is hot and yearning. Goro can barely respond, eyes wide and lips parted stupidly as he allows Akira to take from him.

Akira takes and takes and takes. Until Goro is breathless, heart hammering, lax in Akira’s grip.

Then Akira pulls back, eyelids lifting enough to reveal two gleaming silver crescents. Shifting his hold, he turns to lay Goro flat on the couch and Goro goes pliantly, an anesthetic haze drifting through his head.

“Akechi.” Akira’s face hovers over him, painted half blue by the shedding light of the TV. “Can I fuck you?”

They both know what he’s asking. And Goro should say no. He should make them separate until their hormones physically drive them together again. But even though the desire thrumming through him isn’t rooted in his heat, it’s just as desperate. Just as convincing.

So Goro closes his eyes and nods, snaking his arms around Akira’s neck. Instantly, his mouth is captured again as Akira surges above him. Hands fumble at the waistband of his sweats and Goro lifts his hips to help Akira slide them off, moaning against Akira’s lips as fingers immediately probe at his hole.

“You’re so loose down here,” Akira murmurs, slipping three in without preamble.

Goro tugs feebly on his hair. “Whose fault is that?”

Akira answers with a targeted brush against his prostate and Goro’s spine arches off the sofa. He blinks the wetness out of his eyes and watches the look of concentration cross Akira’s face as he frees his erection and pulls his fingers out. Without them, the gnawing emptiness returns, his body remembering what he’s supposed to be doing right now, but this emptiness stretches farther, up through Goro’s core, into the space behind his ribs, leaving him completely hollow.

He clutches at Akira’s shoulders. “Akira—please—”

The head of Akira’s cock nudges against his entrance and Goro feels himself flutter. “Akechi,” Akira pants, braced over him on one elbow. “Akechi—” he rocks forward, breaching Goro’s rim and sliding in to the hilt with one smooth motion. “ _Hah_ —”

Goro lets out a long breath, head tipping back, savoring the delicious stretch, the solid heat slotting into all the empty spaces inside of him. When he manages to meet Akira’s eyes again, he can’t find any of the vacant lust that’s been sitting just behind his gaze for the past two days, threatening to take over at any moment. There’s only simmering intention and electric intelligence, all concentrated down at him, crystallizing searingly inside the hollow of his chest.

“Akira—” the name falls from his lips, the only word he can summon. “Akira—Akira—”

Akira licks into his mouth, thrusting firmly and dripping heat through every nerve in Goro’s body.

Goro can only hold on and let himself be filled in every possible way, until there’s nothing inside him but Akira.

Nothing. Not even himself.

* * *

On Tuesday afternoon, everything just stops.

Goro blinks back into awareness after letting Akira knot him doggystyle on the bed to find his skin clammy and cool to the touch. The frantic need that’s been his near constant companion is nowhere to be found and he exchanges surprised looks with Akira, whose face is once again pale and alert.

Goro had felt it winding down, but the abruptness with which the fever leaves his body is shocking. The stronger the high, the harder the crash, he supposes.

“The others will be here soon,” Akira announces, mounting the stairs and tucking his phone away. “School’s almost out so—what are you doing?”

Goro shrugs his jacket back on and runs a hand through his hair, casting Akira a perplexed glance. “I’m leaving?”

“Is that a good idea?” Akira drags a deliberate scan up and down Goro’s body.

Indeed, Goro does look like he lost a fight to an octopus, and, even standing still, his legs shake faintly, but— “I need to go.”

“Why?”

Because Leblanc still smells like them. The windows are cracked, admitting the cold November sunlight and slowly airing out the attic, but it’s in the walls, ingrained into the floorboards, clinging mercilessly to Goro’s clothes and skin and hair. He knows it’s just his increased omega sensitivity, but he can barely think past it. “I do have a life outside of this. I need to return to my apartment and start doing damage control.”

“And you really have to go right away?” Akira asks.

“It’s best that I do.”

“Would you stick around for curry?” Akira raises his eyebrows enticingly. “We haven’t had a full meal in three days. I can make us something.”

As tempting as the thought of Leblanc’s curry is, Goro’s stomach is in knots. “Thank you for the offer, but I really must decline. You should be resting anyway.”

The displeased tilt of Akira’s mouth makes it obvious that he wants to argue further, but he furrows his brows and lets it go. “Fine, but you still smell really obvious.” He crosses to the box where he keeps his clothes and digs around for a second. “At least put these on,” he requests, producing a dark hoodie and a long, threadbare plaid scarf.

Goro can’t dispute that he still smells like mating pheromones, so he reluctantly accepts the jacket and slips it on over his blazer.

“And this can hide your neck.” Akira steps close and loops the fabric around Goro’s neck, intent on concealing the ugly bruises marbling the skin between Goro’s jaw and the heat collar.

“Yes, good idea.” Goro breathes shallowly to avoid taking in too much of Akira’s natural musk. “Please tell Okumura-san that I’ll have the collar sterilized and returned to her, should she wish for it back.”

“I doubt she will, but I’ll tell her.” Akira fusses with the ends of the scarf, eyes down, long after the wrapping is complete.

His radiant heat is back to where it was before the rut: a ticklish singe that perches just on the periphery of Goro’s orbit, ever-present and distracting, but no longer desperate and consuming. So it doesn’t make sense that Goro still feels like he’s being swallowed.

“Thank you,” Goro says, trying to prompt Akira to move back.

“Akechi,” Akira starts, ignoring the hint, raising his eyes, “if that Lilith had attacked Yusuke instead, would you have made the same decision?”

“Of course,” Goro lies, smiling. “How could I abandon a teammate in need?”

Akira stares and Goro stares back, daring him to call his bluff.

“Bullshit.”

Goro just grins. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Joker.”

“I know you can be honest with me, Akechi, I’ve seen it—”

“I am always honest.” Goro steps back, pulling away from Akira’s gravity, leaving Akira’s hands hovering emptily in midair. He retrieves his briefcase from the floor and heads for the staircase. “I appreciate your professionalism regarding this incident.” Pausing before the first step, he looks back at Akira’s rigid figure. “And I trust it won’t affect our deal.”

“No,” Akira grits out.

“Excellent.” Goro turns.

“Wait.” Quick footsteps followed by a plastic rustle waylay Goro’s retreat, and then Akira is taking him by the wrist, pressing a shopping bag into his hand. “The medicine Ann bought. Take it, in case something happens.”

“That’s really not necessary—”

Akira curls Goro’s fingers closed around the handles of the bag. “Just do it.”

Goro makes the mistake of meeting Akira’s eyes and the glittering steel freezes the breath in his lungs. “Fine.”

Around his wrist, Akira’s hand burns.

Goro forces himself to shake him off. “When you need me, you know how to contact me,” he says in rush, turning away.

Before Akira can say anything else, Goro is down the stairs and out of Leblanc.

The cold November air fills his head as he gulps it down, but the warm static in his chest won’t be tempered.

* * *

His betrayal goes exactly as planned.

But he’s not prepared for the nausea that lurches through him as soon as he returns home.

Even though he thought he was used to killing, the real world is just different, after all. Goro tells himself it’s just the adjustment shock that’s got his stomach all tangled up as he swallows the bitter taste of acid and flushes the toilet. In the metaverse, he has no problem with gore or death, casually tearing through shadows fantastical and human alike, but some part of him never forgets that the metaverse is, at its core, imaginary. So of course his first real-world murder would hit different.

It’s just that the blood was real, not that the blood was Akira’s.

He stares at his waxy, pale face in the mirror, cold sweat glistening on his brow, and loosens his tie. Popping the top buttons of his shirt, he plucks at the fabric to fan the uncomfortable heat flushing through him, and his eyes catch on a faded bite mark staining the crook of his neck.

The nausea surges violently and Goro doubles over.

* * *

He must be sick.

The nausea doesn’t abate over the next few days, roiling uncomfortably through him at the most inopportune times. He’s not running a fever, but whatever physical reaction he had over shooting Akira can’t have lasted this long, so illness is the only solution he can think of. That, or some sort of delayed complication from his tumultuous heat—

At the thought, Goro’s heart leaps into his throat and he staggers out of the bathroom.

The bag Akira pressed on him is still lying forgotten on his kitchen counter and it rustles as Goro dumps its contents out. If Ann was being paranoid, then there’s no way she didn’t think to get—

Among the pain medicine and fever reducers sits a single box of male omega pregnancy tests.

Goro’s hands shake as he picks it up.

Male pregnancy tests use blood instead of urine to account for false positives from conditions like prostate cancer, so Goro pricks his finger quickly and lets the blood saturate the strip.

Then he drops the test on the counter and paces away, hands in his hair.

Even during the nightmarish haze of his heat, he was careful not to miss his doses, so his fertility would have been incredibly low. Normal heats don’t increase the chemical likelihood of getting pregnant, only breeding heats do, but Goro and Akira _weren’t_ mated, no matter how much their bodies thought they were—but if the rut tricked Goro’s body into producing breeding hormones, would that matter? Would he have been able to tell? It’s all just body chemistry, even between actual mates. Did Goro unintentionally swallow a huge placebo and enter a breeding heat without realizing?

No, that’s crazy. Omegas _have_ to be mated to enter a breeding heat. Even if it was possible, his pill regiment wasn’t interrupted. That would still nullify most of the increased fertility. Knotting isn’t a guarantee of impregnation, and omegas with male genitalia have even lower odds of getting pregnant after a single heat, due to all of the extra time it takes for the womb to move down.

But if by some chance he _is_ —what then? Of course he wouldn’t keep it, but what doctor in the entire city would be trustworthy enough to turn to? When would he find the time? How would he hide it from Shido? And the thought that Akira’s seed is still trapped inside of him makes his fingers itch with the desire to claw his skin off, shred into his own stomach and tear any lingering trace of the boy he killed out of his body.

Goro pulls on his hair until it hurts.

After five minutes, he forces his feet to take him back to the kitchen.

The test is still sitting on the counter, coiled like a viper.

Ice drips into Goro’s chest as he reaches for it, his lungs struggling to expand around the chill. His heart pounds, thundering almost loud enough to drown his ragged breathing as he glances at the result.

_Positive_.

Akira is dead and yet he’s still inside of Goro, piercing and growing and hemorrhaging until there’s nothing of Goro left.

Goro bolts for the sink.

**Author's Note:**

> some notes for my peace of mind:
> 
> "male omega pregnancy tests" refers specifically to omegas with penises. obviously there are male omegas without penises because dynamic is completely separate from sex and gender, but i imagine that a commercial society would still label things in terms of "male" and "female" in the general sense.
> 
> when Goro mentioned wanting to get his glands removed and Akira seemed displeased, it was merely because he was surprised, NOT because he had designs on getting Goro pregnant someday. Akira would support any choice Goro made, as we've seen firsthand lmao.
> 
> this fic might get a short continuation. i have a good idea of how these events affect the third semester and i could be convinced to explore that if you guys are interested >.>
> 
> lemme know what you think on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)!


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